


The Damage Done

by citrinesunset



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Captivity, Dark!Charles, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied Charles/Hank, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Mind Control, Rating and warnings for later chapters, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Telepathy, aftermath of imprisonment, institutionalization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-03-07 13:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: On the White House lawn, Charles makes a different choice. Erik cannot be allowed to go free. Not when he's caused so much damage. Not when he has so much to answer for. But if Erik must be kept caged, Charles can at least give him a home.Erik doesn't see it that way. But no matter how stubborn and proud he is, he's never been prepared to fight Charles.





	1. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is mostly complete, currently at 50,000 words (final wordcount will probably be different but will be in that range). I'm revising and finishing some later scenes. I'm unsure exactly how many chapters it will be when fully posted. There's a possibility of the tags changing a little, but I don't anticipate it.
> 
> Mind the warnings. The sexual and kinky content will start a few chapters in.

Charles knew Hank disagreed with his decision. He didn't have to read his mind—Hank’s body language said enough, the way he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes downcast.

"We can't keep him unconscious forever," Charles said, appealing to Hank's sense of logic.

"I realize that. That's not what I'm objecting to. I just think—we don't know how he'll react."

What Hank hadn't said outright, but that Charles knew he was thinking, was that it'd been a mistake to bring Erik back with them in the first place. He knew he owed Hank a justification, but he could hardly articulate one to himself.

All he knew was that there'd been a moment on the White House lawn when he'd been prepared to let Erik go. They'd locked eyes, and Erik told Charles that if he let the humans have him, he was as good as dead. This was as close as Erik would ever come to begging for his life. Charles never signed up to be Erik's judge, jury, or executioner, but he realized in that moment that he didn't really have a choice. And he couldn't condemn Erik.

But as quickly as he'd decided to give Erik a chance to flee, he realized he couldn't let him go. The instinct was hard to explain, but he couldn't have been more certain of it. First, he made Erik collapse unconscious to the ground. Then he made everyone else, except for himself and Hank, freeze.

Then he'd instructed Hank to get Erik.

"We need to get out of here," Hank had said. "You could be hurt. And what about Logan?"

Charles had put his fingers to his head. "Logan will be all right. He's a survivor. And I'll be fine if you get me to my chair. Please, Hank. I can't keep my hold on everyone forever."

Hank was still hesitant, but he didn't argue. Not verbally.

Their retreat was slow. Charles couldn't move as fast as he'd like in his chair, and devoted most of his mental energy to keeping the people around them frozen. Hank was weighed down by Erik. But in the end, they got away, driving back to New York with Erik unconscious in the back seat.

They'd been keeping Erik unconscious with a combination of sedatives and Charles’ power. Occasionally, Charles took over Erik's consciousness so that he could make him eat or use the bathroom. It seemed kinder and more dignified than asking Hank to give Erik sponge baths or a catheter. But he had not let Erik wake up. Not yet.

"I can handle Erik," Charles said. "And I expect he'll be disoriented at first. He won't know what's happened to him."

"There's no way he'll stay."

"He'll stay." Charles scoffed. "He doesn't have an abundance of options at the moment."

Hank took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to ask is...what's our plan, exactly? If he insists on leaving, do we let him go?"

Charles hesitated. It was somewhat uncomfortable to say this aloud, but it was becoming unavoidable. "No. We will not be letting him go."

"And how are we going to stop him? You know what they had to do to keep him locked up in the Pentagon. It would take weeks, _months_ for us to figure out a way to replicate that sort of environment. We're not set up to be a prison. It was hard enough turning this place into a school."

Charles shook his head. "No, I don't want to keep him in a prison. At least not like that." He paused and added, "I want to give him a home."

"He won't accept it," Hank said. "And frankly, I don't know if he deserves it. For all we know, he murdered Logan. He was willing to kill me. And who knows how many more people he would've killed if Raven didn't stop him."

"He didn't kill Logan. I told you, I can sense—"

"Okay, maybe not. But he tried to, and that was after we broke him out of prison. Why should we expect better now?"

Since springing Erik from the Pentagon, Charles had been thinking a lot. Now that he was more removed from his anger, Charles had to admit that the government had been woefully unprepared to handle Erik. Had Charles found himself in the conditions Erik was kept in, he doubted he would have survived for as long as Erik had, or come out of the experience with his sanity intact. Erik had committed many wrongs, but even if he'd done the one thing that landed him in prison, was his punishment truly about justice? Or had the government seen him as a monster that had to be contained or, worse, a curiosity to study? What if they'd given him to Trask to dissect?

It was clear that humans had no idea how to imprison a mutant humanely. If the world needed to be kept safe from Magneto, Charles would take on the responsibility.

"I think if we want him to change, we have to give him a chance. That said...if we're careful, he may not need to know he isn't free to leave."

"You want to use your power on him."

Hank's tone was devoid of any reproach, but Charles almost flinched regardless.

"Only to the extent that's needed."

"I guess we have to do _something_." Again, no reproach. But that wasn't the same thing as approval.

Charles looked him in the eye. "I realize I'm asking quite a lot of you. If you feel you can't stay, I understand."

He didn't want Hank to leave, and if he was realistic, it wasn't as simple as he made it out to be. Charles could reassure Hank that he could both take care of himself and control Erik, but he'd never believe it unless Charles forced him to. And Hank would be right to doubt. Charles wasn't helpless, but he had to face reality. He had his limitations. He was still getting used to being in his chair again, and despite the modifications he'd made, the mansion was not entirely accessible. And Erik was...formidable.

Hank sighed. "Of course not. I'm staying."

Charles' shoulders sank in relief. Hank had a great degree of loyalty, and Charles knew he hadn't even begun to repay it.

Hank continued. "I just think we're investing a lot of effort in someone who doesn't deserve it. Does he even _want_ it? And what about the school? I thought maybe…." His voice trailed off, uncertain.

"I would love to start up the school again. But it'll take time to get the place ready. By the time it is, I'm sure we'll have this sorted out."

They'd saved the future. Surely they could manage this.

 

* * *

 

Erik woke up slowly. At first, when he found his hands restrained, there was a rush of panic. His instinct told him to reach out with his power for something to defend himself with. But his senses were too dull, and when he cracked open his eyes, he saw a lamp wobble for a moment before coming to a stop. He'd been drugged. He knew the feeling all too well.

But then he remembered. He'd woken up here before. Charles had been by his side, softly telling him to sleep. And he'd felt safe.

How much time had passed? It could have been hours or days. He looked down at one of straps securing his wrists to the bed. There was no metal he could manipulate. Was that intentional? He watched while he made a fist and tugged at the restraint. It was like watching someone else.

"I do apologize about that. We didn't want you falling out of bed or wandering off while you were still sedated."

Erik looked up and saw Charles sitting across the room, backlit by the sun coming through the window. He was in a manual wheelchair. It was strange, seeing him like that. Erik realized he never had before. After Cuba, Erik had eventually learned about the extent of Charles' injuries. But he hadn't dared go to him. He'd told himself then that it was because Charles wouldn't want to see him, but in the intervening years, he'd admitted to himself that he was really afraid.

And then he'd had to admit that he might never see Charles again.

Erik swallowed. His throat was dry. "I'm in your home, aren't I? Why did you bring me here?"

Charles wheeled himself closer. He stopped beside the bed. "You were injured. I couldn't leave you. Do you remember much about what happened?"

"Yes."

At least, he thought he did. He remembered Mystique aiming a gun at him. He hadn't been surprised that she was willing to shoot him. He deserved her anger, and if there was one thing he'd taught her, it was to do what needed to be done. He was many things, but not a hypocrite. But the fact that she found it necessary to defend the humans, to defend them against _him_....

And now the humans would want their revenge against him.

He tried to sit up. "I need to go."

Charles put a hand on his arm. "No, my friend. You don't. You're perfectly safe here. We need to talk about what's happened, and Hank will be bringing you up some lunch soon. So if you promise not to overexert yourself, I'll take off the restraints. Is that a deal?"

Erik sank back down into the bed. "Fine. It would appear I'm at your mercy."

Charles undid the first strap, and then reached across Erik's lap to release his other wrist. There was little intimacy in his touch, but his hands were gentle. Familiar.

Erik's neck was stiff, and something was digging into his jaw. He felt around with his free hand and realized it was a bandage.

"Don't try to get up right away. I'm sorry about the drugs, but you were hurt and I wanted you to rest."

"How long have I been here?"

"Six days."

He'd imagined it was a couple days, at most.

" _Six days_? You should have let me leave. They'll be looking for me now."

What had Charles been dosing him with to keep him sedated? Or had it just been drugs? Charles did have his power back, after all. Not knowing what was done to him made Erik uneasy. But it was Charles; Erik had never managed to extinguish his faith in him entirely.

"They would have been looking for you even if you left days ago."

"And Mystique?"

"Raven is in the wind, but she's fine. I think we'd best give her some time." He seemed to emphasize the name _Raven_ , a subtle but unmistakable refusal to use the name she'd chosen for herself. "The important thing is we did it. Look." He picked up a newspaper from the nightstand and laid it out on Erik's lap. "The Sentinel program has been disbanded. Raven showed everyone that we can be good people."

Erik blinked and tried to focus his still-blurry eyes on the headlines. One read: _Top Security Experts Decry Cancelled Sentinel Program_. Another: _Mayor Urges Caution, Compassion in Response to Mutants_.

"We shouldn't have to convince them of that." He also could have pointed out that a few good headlines meant nothing in the long run. The tide would turn eventually. Nonetheless, they had a reprieve for the moment. There was time to regroup, maybe even get the upper hand.

"It certainly doesn't help when you threaten to kill the president," Charles said, his tone turning cold. "Or when you create panic on live television. Or when you try to _kill_ your friends."

"I was trying to _save_ us." He sat up, ignoring the way it made his head spin. "Do you think it was easy for me to shoot her? That it was what I wanted? I made a mistake, but you know I only did it because I thought it was necessary."

Charles' expression went blank. "Yes, well, it's hard to undo a mistake like that, isn't it? You're fortunate Raven is alive—because she stopped you, we might actually have a chance for peace. And do you have nothing to say about what you did to Logan?"

"You feel entitled to rebuke me? If that's why you brought me here, I'll be going."

"No, you won't be leaving today. You're still recovering."

"I've survived worse."

"Hank and I took a great risk to bring you back here. You told me yourself that if I let them have you, you'd be as good as dead. What do you think will happen if you leave here? And what do you think will happen if they learn who saved you? You owe it to yourself—to me—to wait here awhile."

"And how long do you expect me to stay?"

Before Charles could respond, there was a knock on the door. Perhaps it was Erik's imagination, but Charles looked relieved.

"Come in."

The door swung open, and Hank came in carrying a lap tray. There was a bowl of soup on it and a glass of water.

"Excellent," Charles said. "Erik, you should try to eat."

Hank wouldn't look at Erik as he set the tray on the bed.

Erik didn't like being served lunch in bed, and he wasn't hungry. But the sooner he got his strength back, and the sooner he convinced Charles that he was better, the sooner he could leave. He reached for the metal spoon but stopped and tried to pick it up with his ability instead. To his relief, the spoon rose off the tray and into his hand.

Hank left, but Charles stayed while Erik ate.

After he finished eating, he got up to stretch his legs. He shuffled over to the window. For the first time, he realized that the room he was in was the same one he'd stayed in a decade ago. It hadn't changed much, but then, his memory wasn't what it used to be. In prison, he'd worked to keep his mind sharp, both out of fear of losing it and to fill the never-ending days. He'd kept meticulous track of time. He'd had no consistent way of recording it, but he learned to track the days by observing the guard rotation. Occasionally, they'd drug his food for reasons they rarely shared with him, and when he came to, his first priority after checking his body for needle marks and missing parts was to figure out how long he'd been unconscious. He devoted himself so fully to tracking time that when he was finally freed, his approximation of the date was only off by twelve days. Nonetheless, there were gaps. He had to focus harder to follow what people were saying. And when he saw people he remembered, he couldn't tell if he'd forgotten details about their appearance or if he was merely seeing the passage of time.

When he looked at Charles, he still expected to see the man he remembered from 1962. The one he'd traveled with. The one who'd torn down his defenses. The one who'd seduced him. Not this unshaven man in a wheelchair who hated him.

While Erik was looking out the window, Charles cleared his throat and said, "I'd like it if you stayed. Don't tell me you really like the idea of running off like a hunted animal. Remember, I can read your mind."

Erik raised his eyebrows. "I thought you never wanted to be in my head again."

"I may have spoken in anger."

Erik turned back to the window. The lawn outside looked neglected, with brown patches and dead leaves that still hadn't been raked since fall.

"If you're reading my mind, then you know I can't stay."

"You can stay for tonight, at least. Will you promise me that?"

"Fine. I'll stay tonight."

Despite the circumstances, being with Charles again pleased him.

When Hank came to collect the lunch tray, Charles left with him, giving his apologies to Erik.

"I have some things to see to, but we'll talk more later. Try to rest."

After Charles left, Erik went to find the bathroom. It took him a minute to remember where it was, but he the layout of the mansion was like muscle memory. He splashed cool water on his face and studied himself in the mirror. It occurred to him that he looked and felt clean. Erik had no memory of it, but he must have bathed and used the toilet multiple times over the past week. He wondered if Charles had been using his power to take control of him. He supposed that was better than the alternative, that Hank had been giving him sponge baths and shoving a catheter up his dick.

He carefully removed the bandage from his neck and inspected the wound. It was healing, and looked well-stitched. There would be a scar, but Erik had no shortage of those.

Would it be the worst thing to stay for a few more days? Charles had brought him back here for a reason, and Erik couldn’t help but wonder what it was. Part of him longed for another chance to achieve understanding. Or a chance to do things a little differently than he had last time. He'd had a lot of time over the past decade to ruminate on that.

But it would be better to go now, before he and Charles could disappoint each other further. Perhaps Charles was expecting it. He wouldn't be surprised when Erik left.

Erik decided: he would leave tonight, after Charles went to bed.

For the rest of the day, he was careful not to think too much about his intentions, just in case. He ate dinner with Charles in the dining room while Hank busied himself in the kitchen. Erik got the sense that Hank didn't want to see him, but that hardly concerned him.

He thought Charles might want to talk after dinner. After all, even if he didn't know Erik's exact intentions, he must have known that Erik would leave soon. If he wanted to talk, this was their chance. But Charles was still closed-off like he had been on the plane. Still angry, perhaps. Erik couldn't blame him.

So when Charles said he had work to do after dinner, Erik said goodnight and went upstairs. Charles always used to go to bed late, so Erik allowed himself to doze off. It would be a while yet before he could leave undetected, and he would need some rest for the journey he was about to take. When he woke up, it was a little after three in the morning. It seemed like as good a time as any.

At some point, Charles and Hank had dressed him in a pair of sweats. The clothes he'd worn in Washington were in the closet and the dresser. They'd been washed. There was no sign of his cape or helmet, which gave him pause. If the helmet wasn't here, it was either because Charles had left it on the White House lawn or because he had it but didn't intend to give it back. Perhaps he intended to use it as leverage.

It didn't matter. Erik could manage until he could make a new one.

After taking a final look around the room, he stepped out into the hall.

 

* * *

 

Erik woke up in bed. He was lying on top of the covers and was dressed except for his shoes. He wasn't alone—Charles was sitting beside the bed, reading a book. Erik was still in the mansion. Hadn't he planned to leave?

"Why am I in bed? What time is it?"

Charles looked up from his book. "Almost noon. You needed your rest, I supposed."

"But I—"

"I brought you the newspaper, if you want to read it. It's on the nightstand," Charles said in a clipped tone. He looked back down at his book, but his hands were restless. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the pages.

Something had happened, but there was an impenetrable blank spot in Erik's memory. Like it had been rubbed out with eraser. He looked sideways at Charles.

"Did you _make_ me go to sleep?" Erik asked.

Charles chuckled. "What? Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't remember lying down."

Charles closed his book and set it in his lap. "I _have_ been helping you sleep sometimes. I was concerned you'd wake up on your own and leave in a panic before I could speak to you."

"And this morning?"

"The sedative Hank was giving you can affect memory. It might not have been out of your system yet. You're perfectly safe. Please don't look for danger where there is none."

"Don't deflect, Charles. I'm merely asking—"

The door opened and Hank stepped in, carrying another bed tray. Erik felt as though he were caught in a time loop.

"I don't want it," Erik snapped.

"You haven't eaten since last night," Charles said gently.

As before, Hank left the tray with as little interaction as possible and Charles stayed behind while Erik picked at his food.

Once he'd eaten all he could stomach, Erik spent an hour or so looking at the newspaper. It occurred to him that he'd been planning to leave, but that he'd decided at some point that it would be better not to until he had a chance to say goodbye.

He would leave tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

It was not difficult to make Erik fall asleep. It was merely a shame to have to do so. Charles had been overly optimistic, perhaps. He hadn't known what to expect when Erik woke up, but had hoped that they would figure things out.

Hank offered to prepare a dose of sedative, but Charles said it would not be necessary. The heaviness of the drug always made him nervous. And besides, he wanted Erik's mind to be clear for what he needed to do.

Erik was slumped against the pile of pillows. Charles wheeled as close to the bed as possible and locked the breaks. He braced his hands on the arms and hoisted himself up and over to the bed, where he sat beside Erik's covered legs. Charles took Erik's hand in his and, with his other hand, placed his fingers against his own temple.

Even without his helmet, Erik was good at putting up defenses. Sometimes it was intentional, and sometimes it felt automatic. A lot of people did that when they knew they were around a telepath. It seldom worked. It was as effective as an umbrella in a hurricane. But there was very little Erik could do to guard his mind while he was asleep. Charles slipped inside as easily as a knife through melted butter.

Erik's subconscious held its share of pain, but perhaps less than Erik would have realized. It was the good memories that Erik tended to bury, because it was painful to think about them. Maybe he thought that allowing himself happiness would make him vulnerable. In any case, Erik's subconscious wasn't such a terrible place to explore. It held the best parts of who Erik was, and Charles found himself remembering why he'd trusted Erik in the first place, all those years ago.

But tonight, Charles pushed past the static and focused on the task at hand.

There was a difference between controlling a person and manipulating them. Each of these had their own challenges.

Maintaining constant control over Erik wasn't sustainable long-term. Charles had to sleep at some point. He had to concentrate on other things. He couldn't focus all his energy on Erik, even if he'd wanted to. And he couldn't drug Erik forever.

But he could also manipulate people's minds. He might remove or change a memory. If he'd wanted, he could have made Erik unwilling to resist.

Charles didn't like doing this. When he was young, he'd started doing it unknowingly, and once he realized what he was capable of, there were a few years where he couldn't always tell if attention he received was genuine or if he was influencing people to like him. After he realized that his mother's brief show of affection toward him in his teens wasn't genuine, his already fragile relationship with her never recovered. He couldn't put himself through that.

And it felt wrong to do it to Erik.

As an adult, he had enough control that he was willing to use this power when necessary. He'd altered Moira's memory for the protection of himself and his students. He'd occasionally altered the memories of workmen who came to the mansion, if they'd seen anything that might jeopardize the school's safety and privacy.

He very rarely altered people's thoughts or emotions. But there were certain simple necessities at hand. Like ensuring that Erik wouldn't escape.

And really, what was worse? Making a few small changes so that Erik could be comfortable, or keeping him locked up like he had been at the Pentagon? If Charles was going to do that latter, what was the point in keeping him? He could simply hand him over to the humans.

Erik might not have agreed, but Erik was good at selecting the path of his own continued suffering.

Charles pursed his lips in concentration. He kept his touch on Erik's mind light. He worked carefully, like he was painting a miniature or carving fine detail into a leather wallet.

Without opening his eyes, Erik took a deep breath and turned his head, like he was trying to get away from Charles. He groaned softly and the muscles in his jaw tensed.

"Shh. It's all right," Charles said. "Relax. I'm not hurting you."

Erik's breathing settled back into a regular rhythm. His face relaxed.

When Charles had finished, he felt physically exhausted, as though he'd just spent a half hour lifting weights. It was all in his head, he reminded himself. Still, it was harder getting back into his chair than it had been getting out of it, and his arms were tired as he wheeled himself to his room.

Everything about his bedtime routine took longer without the use of his legs. He'd gotten efficient before, but after being on the serum so long, he had to get used to it again. The learning curve wasn't nearly as steep as it had been immediately after his injury, but it was still steep enough to be annoying. He resented all the hassles he had to deal with again. Emptying his bladder via catheter. Emptying his bowels. Putting pajama bottoms on uncooperative legs. By the time he settled into bed, he should have been more than ready for sleep.

Instead, he lay awake in the dark, feeling Erik's presence down the hall. He worried that if he went to sleep, he'd wake up to find Erik gone. What if his power hadn't returned entirely yet, and he'd overestimated his own strength?

But he had to put faith in it. And in Hank's sedative. For now, Erik was fast asleep. It was time for Charles to follow suit.

 

* * *

 

Erik woke up early. There was no clock, but his bedroom faced east, and the sky was a pale blue. Sunrise, then.

It was time to leave. He wouldn't wait to say goodbye. He didn't trust Charles not to make it difficult. And he knew exactly how _difficult_ Charles could make things, if he wanted to.

He dressed quickly and quietly. He didn't know what sort of hours Charles and Hank kept, or how light of sleepers they were.

Next, he considered his options. The window was the obvious choice. He wouldn't have to worry about being heard or seen. He unlatched the window and lifted it, letting a cold breeze in.

He paused, wondering if he should steal a coat. His cape might have kept him warm, but it hadn't been with his clothes. But he didn't know where he'd find a coat and he wasn't going to waste time looking for one. He'd make do until he got into town.

He sat on the window sill, intending to swing his legs over the side. But he didn't. He felt like he _could_. He had full control over his body. But he couldn't make himself do it.

The window was a bad idea, of course. Hank had been sedating him for a week, and he didn't know how that might have affected his power. And besides, Charles was almost certainly still in bed. There was time to go downstairs and walk out the door.

The house was dark and quiet when he stepped out into the hall. Still, the mansion was so large that Charles could have been up and he'd never know it. But if Charles' habits were still anything like they'd been years ago, he wasn't an early riser. Hank was a wildcard, but if necessary, Erik could probably take him out without alerting Charles.

He met no resistance as he headed downstairs, however. He unlocked the front door and put his hand on the knob. It was so simple—just open the door and step outside. If the gate was locked, he could break it easily or simply fly over it.

But he didn't open the door. He was frozen like he had been at the window. This time, he gripped the doorknob and tried to make himself turn it.

He didn't like to think about his childhood, but he was reminded of a time when he was very young and went ice skating for the first time. He'd been very excited to try it, but when he stood at the edge of the pond, it took several minutes before he could make himself step out onto the ice. It was only the taunts from the older children that made him do it.

He let himself feel the energy in the metal doorknob, as though that might have a similar motivating effect on him. It didn't. In the quiet stillness, he was aware of his pounding heart and the warm throbbing of his blood pressure rising.

Something was wrong with him. He wasn't a child anymore. And there was no reason to be nervous about opening a door. And yet, the wrongness of his reaction was intangible. He didn't know what to make of it.

He stepped away from the door and headed toward the kitchen. It was amazing how well he remembered the layout of the mansion, even after all this time. He got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. As he stood and drank it, he breathed through his nose and tried to let his heartrate settle.

There was a clock in the kitchen, and the steady ticking was making his head hurt. He rubbed his forehead and glanced up at the clock. It was seven-forty. That seemed later than it should have been. How long had it taken him to get dressed? Why was he standing here when he needed to leave?

But he was still standing there when he heard movement behind him sometime later. He looked over his shoulder and saw Charles wheeling himself into the kitchen in a manual chair. He was in his pajamas and a robe.

"I was wondering where you'd gone off to. I didn't expect you to be up this early." Charles smiled. "And to think _I_ got up early because I wanted to be around when you woke up. I suppose I miscalculated. You always were an early riser."

"Did you think I might leave?" Erik set his glass on the counter and turned to face Charles.

"I'd rather hoped you wouldn't. Are you making breakfast?"

Erik braced his hands on the counter. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled.


	2. Diminishing Returns

Over the next several days, Charles watched Erik with caution and interest.

Charles’ efforts were working. Erik hadn't left and hadn't confronted the fact that he couldn't. It wasn't for lack of trying, as Charles had seen first-hand. One night, Erik didn't realize Charles was up reading in his study. Charles used his power to mask his presence as he followed Erik to the front door. Erik strode confidently before suddenly stopping. He stood by the door for a minute, hand hovering over the handle, before he turned and stepped away, his face clouded like someone who'd just forgotten why he entered a room.

But it was an empty and tenuous victory. Erik's mind was distracted now by thoughts of leaving. It was _all_ he thought about, and Charles had a hard time not hating him for it. It wasn't Erik's fault. He was in limbo, unable to comprehend that he'd tried and failed to do the one thing his instincts were driving him toward.

As the days wore on, Erik's mind became increasingly uneasy. He was silent at mealtimes and fidgeted while he looked out the window. He was far too clever, far too alert, not to recognize that something was amiss.

Charles was no longer sure what he'd hoped for. Had he expected this to be a long-term solution? Or had he simply hoped it would give Erik more time to acclimate, like a pet cat that needed to be taught not to run away?

One morning, Erik was sitting in the study with Charles, reading the paper. Charles had just finished breakfast, but Erik had, of course, eaten earlier. By the time Charles got up in the morning, Erik's mind was already clouded with confusion, but this morning, Erik frowned deeply, the lines in his forehead a perfect visual representation of how much he was straining his mind.

Charles did not ask him what was wrong. But this morning, Erik wasn't silent.

"Charles?"

“Yes?"

"It's been two weeks since DC."

It wasn't a question. Erik was clearly looking at the date on the paper.

"Yes, it has. I think it's very promising that the news is still in our favor. Don't you?"

"I'm missing time. There are days I can't remember. You've done something, haven't you?"

"Done something?" Charles said with a chuckle. "I'm not—"

"Don't patronize me," Erik snapped. He straightened the paper with a snap and set it on the table beside his chair. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Charles let his smile fade. This was inevitable, really. He'd known so for days. "No, you're far too clever. I'm sorry, Erik. I meant no harm."

"It's my _head_. What gives you the right to mess with it?"

"What gave you the right to try to kill the president on live television?"

Erik grew silent. His face was blank, which was more worrying than anger would have been. When he spoke again, he said, "I see. And when will I be 'ready' to go? When, exactly, do you intend to let me leave? I think you owe me the truth."

Charles couldn't lie to him. Not to his face. "I'm not sure. It depends somewhat on you."

"And what gives you the right to keep me prisoner? Since when do you have the authority?"

The lamp on the small side table beside Erik's chair shook. The anger was coming back.

"Prisoner? That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"Of all the people I would expect this from," Erik continued, "I never would have worried about you. Good job, my friend. You've surprised me."

"What would you have had me do? You asked me to not to let them have you."

"I asked you to let me go!" He was raising his voice, now.

Charles shook his head. "No, you didn't want me to let them have you. What do you think would have happened if you'd run? A temporary reprieve, at best. Can you honestly tell me you don't think you'd undo our progress? Or that you wouldn't end up in another cell sooner or later? I saved you. I think that for that, you least, you owe me some of your time."

The lamp flew off the table and crashed to the floor. Charles' gaze snapped down and then right back at Erik. He was prepared to shut him down at the first moment it became necessary to do so.

"See, I've realized you were entirely right that I abandoned you and the others. If I'd had my power, I might have realized sooner that we were in danger. I might have been able to save some of them. I also realize that I allowed my anger toward you to blind me, and that if I'd looked at your situation more objectively, perhaps I wouldn't have let them keep you for so long. I never would have wanted you locked up for something you didn't do, no matter what else you've done.

"But that doesn't erase the fact that _you_ abandoned _me_. And after everything you've done, I realize that I can't in good conscience let you cause any more harm. But we won't repeat our mistakes. You'll stay here for the foreseeable future. I'll give you the sort of life you deserve. Whether that's a good life or not depends on you. Any questions? You can speak."

Erik swallowed. He hadn't even realized he didn't have control of his tongue until that control was given back to him. "What did you do to me? I can't go outside."

"I planted a suggestion."

"You had no right."

"Would you have preferred it if I built a cell to keep you in? Or if I had Hank keep you drugged?"

"It's my _head_ , Charles."

"If you don't see the benefit, that's quite all right. I didn't do it just for you. Frankly, I have no desire to turn my house into a prison. I'm taking on a great amount of responsibility, keeping you here. This makes my job a little easier."

"And what does Hank think of this? Does he approve, or does he still follow you like a good little dog?"

"You'll have to ask him yourself. However, you did try to kill him recently, so I suggest you try to be nice. Speaking of which, I realize I can't expect you to be in a cooperative mood, and I'm prepared to be very patient. But just in case it's not clear, any violence against me or Hank will be shut down immediately. Don't mistake my kindness for weakness."

Erik scoffed. "Kindness? Is that what you call this?"

"It's what I call letting you keep some dignity."

"You have a strange definition of 'dignity,' Charles." He stood up. "I'm leaving. If you want to stop me, you'll have to try harder than you have been."

Erik stormed out of the room. Charles followed behind in his chair. When he caught up, Erik was at the front door, with his hand on the doorknob. His hand shook, and the knuckle bones stood out in white relief underneath the taut skin. His shoulders heaved like someone had poured ice water over them.

"You can't leave," Charles said. "Not until I permit it."

"Get out of my head, Charles," Erik said, agonized. He gripped the doorknob like he was going to rip it out.

Erik was trying to push him out of his mind. Erik always thought that force was the answer, that the harder he pushed, the harder he fought, he would eventually succeed. But Charles' power was rarely about force. He wielded it more like a scalpel than a hammer. Erik did not know how to fight it.

"Please. Just calm down—"

Erik put a hand to his forehead. He tensed, took a sharp breath, and crumpled to the floor. When he lost consciousness, Charles felt it immediately.

For a moment, he just looked down at Erik. Then he called out, loudly, for Hank.

No response. Hank was probably in his lab. Perhaps he could hear, perhaps not. Charles didn't have time to go find him. He lifted his fingers to his temple and reached out that way.

It was less than a minute before Hank appeared at the top of the stairs, though it seemed longer for Charles, who was still watching Erik's still body. Hank froze when he saw Erik, and then rushed downstairs.

"What happened? What did you do to him?"

"I haven't done anything. We argued and he hurt himself trying to escape."

"But how—"

"Hank. _Please_. I can't move him. I need you to carry him upstairs and put him in bed."

Hank hesitated, like he still wanted an explanation. But in the end he rushed to Erik's side without further questions. When Hank turned him over, Charles noticed the damp patch on the front of Erik's trousers. Charles looked away, sheepish.

Hank lifted Erik easily and carried him upstairs.

Charles trailed behind, taking extra time in the elevator to calm down and get his thoughts in order. His heart was racing. He hadn't lied to Hank. He didn't attack Erik. He never intended for Erik to be hurt.

Erik would be fine.

 

* * *

 

When Erik came to, Hank was shining a flashlight in his eyes. Erik swatted his hand away.

"Can you give us a moment?"

It was Charles. He was in the bedroom, but somewhere out of sight.

Hank seemed to hesitate. Then he clicked off the flashlight and stepped away. Once he was gone, Charles wheeled into view.

In happier times, Erik had begged Charles to take control of him, the same way he'd begged Charles to shoot him in the head so that he could show off his ability. As soon as Erik had realized he wasn't alone in the world, he'd developed a great admiration for power. Back then, Charles had been offended at the prospect, and had said a lot of things about how just because you _could_ do something didn't mean it was a good idea to actually do it. But in the end, he'd relented to give Erik a taste. To control him for just a moment. It was unnerving, but somehow thrilling. And Charles seemed to enjoy it, too, perhaps because it was the first time he'd been able to openly use his powers on someone.

Erik had always known what Charles could do if he were so inclined. It had never frightened him.

"Are you feeling better now?"

Erik sat up, supporting himself on his elbows. "For someone who claims to abhor violence, you found it easy enough to beat my mind like an egg."

Charles’ expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did.

"You know I'd never try to harm you. And you must be all right if you can come up with such colorful metaphors."

"Whatever you did to me, I have a blinding headache."

"What do you remember?"

"I confronted you about what you're doing to me."

Charles closed his eyes. "It's all right," he said, his voice softer now, like he was soothing a wounded animal. "You're all right. I'm sorry. I was only trying to keep you from becoming distressed. I realize now that I misjudged. I should have realized you were far too clever to be fooled."

"What did you think? That I have a mind like an insect? Did you think if you didn't like the way I was going, you could just pick me up and turn me the other way?"

Charles blinked and shook his head. "Of course not. Never. But I didn't want you to feel like a prisoner. I thought that with time—"

"But I _am_ a prisoner. Do you deny that?"

"If you are, whose fault is that? If I'd let you go, what do you think your chances would have been? I'm offering you a home and a chance to do something worthwhile, which is far more than any government would feel obliged to offer you. Regardless of what I’ve done and my intentions, I'm not the one who put you in this position." He reached for Erik's hand. "I don't know if I can make you happy, because I don't know if you could ever be happy. But I can offer you a home. Security from those who would hurt you. Companionship. Is your pride so strong that you won't accept it?"

One thing Erik couldn't forgive, least of all in himself, was pretending failure and weakness were strategic choices. And yet, perhaps that was what he'd done for nearly ten years as he’d sat in an inescapable cell and found purpose in his martyrdom. It was what Charles wanted him to do now. And who knew more about giving up than Charles?

He could keep calling Charles’ bluff. Fight him until his only choices were to let Erik go or destroy him. But he'd never properly realized what it would be like to fight Charles’ telepathy. It was a fight he didn't know if he could bear to lose.

Charles’ concern surprised him. Maybe this was the first time anyone had given Charles a proper fight. Maybe he'd only ever used his power against people who didn't know it was happening, didn't mind, or never had a chance to resist. Far from comforting Erik, the thought made his situation seem all the perilous. Charles could destroy him without even meaning to.

"And if I can't accept it? How far are you willing to go to make me comply?"

Charles frowned. He didn't seem to have an answer.

 

* * *

 

Hank had put his trust in Charles for more than a decade. If he was completely honest with himself, maybe Charles hadn't always earned it. He didn't feel ready to think about that, but Erik's present condition was making it hard not to.

Eventually, the door to the bedroom opened and both Charles and Erik emerged. Erik stumbled wordlessly in the direction of the bathroom, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Hank intercepted Charles.

"Are you going to tell me what happened? If you lost your temper, I could understand—"

He could understand. He really could. If he was concerned, it wasn't out of compassion for Erik.

Charles responded with an exasperated chuckle. " _Hank._ I didn't _lose my temper_. Do you really think I would try to hurt him?"

"No, of course not, but—look, I trust you. But if you want me to take care of him, I need to know. You'd tell me if you damaged him, right?"

"Yes, of course," Charles said brusquely. He paused, and said, "Well, I'm not--I can't be certain. It's not a simple thing to keep him here. Not without turning him into some sort of living doll. And Erik has such a strong will to begin with. But no, I'm sure I haven't damaged him. I've been...reckless, perhaps. I didn't consider the effect these years have had on him. I'm being much more careful, now." He took a shaky breath and looked up at Hank.

Hank believed him.

Charles continued. "You said yourself that Erik wouldn't stay willingly. I've had to take measures to keep him from leaving. I don't want to hurt him, but if he fights us, if he tries to leave, he might hurt himself. We need to be cautious with him. Will you keep an eye on him?"

Hank didn't want to keep an eye on him, but he didn't want him to pass out again and hit his head, either. Reluctantly, Hank agreed, and he found himself leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door. The shower was running.

Hank looked at his watch. It'd been twenty minutes. Knocking on the door, he said, "You okay in there?" There was no answer. He sighed. "I don't want to barge in on you. Just tell me you're conscious."

Screw it. Hand tried the doorknob and was a little surprised to find it unlocked. Inside, the bathroom mirror was fogged up and the air was thick like a sauna. He took a deep breath and pulled aside the shower curtain just enough to see if Erik had passed out in there.

Erik was standing under the spray. He had one arm braced against the wall in front of him, and was resting his head against his forearm. His hunched shoulders were still pink from the heat, but the water must have gone cold by now. He didn't react to Hank's intrusion.

Hank was going to have to have a longer talk with Charles.

"I'm going to reach in and turn the water off. Don't attack me, okay?"

Hank reached into the shower like he was reaching around a sleeping bear. Erik didn't move until the water was shut off. Then he took a deep breath and reached for his towel.

Hank left to give him some privacy. He initially planned to leave him be. He might have been borderline catatonic after whatever Charles did to him, but he met the threshold of being functional. After a few minutes in his lab, however, guilt started to get the better of Hank. He decided to check on Erik one more time.

This time, at least Erik was in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked no less dazed than he had before, but at least he'd moved.

"How's your head?" Hank asked.

"It's fine."

Erik spread his knees, and Hank suddenly turned ninety-degrees and put his hands on his hips. He looked down at his feet. "Your uh—you need to adjust your towel."

Hank risked a glance over at Erik. Erik looked down at his lap, noticing that his towel had come open. He looked up at Hank and raised his eyebrows.

"You just walked in on me in the shower, and _now_ you're bothered?"

"Yeah, and I tried not to look. Will you just fix your towel? Please?"

"If Charles intends to hold me prisoner, I'll need clothes. What I have won't go far. You know that, right?"

Damn, he was right.

"We've got some stuff stashed away in one of the bedrooms. I guess you can try some of it on. I'll show you later, if you feel up to it."

"No, show me now."

"I will if you put something on first."

He left the room. Erik emerged a minute later wearing a pair of sweats, and Hank led him down the hall. After the school closed, some of the bedrooms had been turned into storage space. Not everyone who'd come to the school left with all their belongings, and some of them would never have the chance to come back to collect them. Charles wasn't sentimental, but he hung onto things if he thought the owner might be back someday, or if he thought they may be useful.

"I think Charles gave away most of the stuff you left behind before. But you can look through the boxes."

Erik nudged a cardboard box with his toe and dislodged a fine cloud of dust.

Hank continued. "Alex left some clothes behind. He hasn't said if he's coming back for them, so I guess you can try them on, see if any fit."

Erik looked unimpressed with the idea, and Hank took a small measure of satisfaction from that.

 

* * *

 

Erik was unaccustomed to being forced into a corner. Charles was the only one who ever could have done it to him, and for that, Erik partly blamed himself.

He wasn't prepared to accept Charles' "kindness," but nor was he prepared to fight Charles.

Charles clearly wasn't used to keeping prisoners. He only gave Erik two rules: no leaving the mansion, and no violence. Otherwise, Erik was left to the mercy of his own boredom and lack of direction.

Some captors would have done this intentionally--Shaw had experimented with frustrating Erik by giving him unclear instructions--but in Charles’ case, Erik knew he thought he was being kind.

What Charles didn't comprehend was that at a certain point, it wasn't the cruelty of imprisonment that was difficult to take. It was the vulnerability. It was impossible to be healthy and comfortable without giving your jailers the power to hurt you. Erik had never been suicidal, but he was honest enough to admit that if he'd died during his decade in prison, it wouldn't have been because he was denied care but because he refused to tell anyone when he needed it.

It was different with Charles, of course. Charles loved him more than he hated him. And Hank was too soft to be a good jailer. But well-meaning jailers could be the worst ones. Their compassion was fickle and they didn't appreciate the significance of their actions. Charles was not exempt from this no matter how much he might have believed he was.

Every day, Hank would wordlessly deliver Erik's meals on a tray. It reminded Erik unpleasantly of how he'd been fed in prison. The food was no better. In the Pentagon, he had at least been given food that was cooked for the cafeteria. Here, he had to make do with Hank's lazy attempts at cooking—sandwiches, canned soup, the occasional perfunctory plate of spaghetti.

Erik showed his displeasure with his circumstances by twisting the silverware into knots that Hank would never be able to undo no matter how strong he was.

After a week of giving Hank the silent treatment, Erik finally said, "I don't know why you bother. I'd rather be left alone."

"Well, Charles doesn't want you to starve. And I guess you're not capable of making your own lunch. So no, you're not going to be left alone." Hank put the tray on the dresser and huffed. "You know you _are_ allowed to go downstairs and get your own food, right? I know you've had your meals delivered for the last ten years, but we're exactly locking you in here. You're the one who's decided to stay in here and mope all day."

Hank started to leave. Erik lifted a hand and made the spoon rise off the tray. With a jerk of his index finger, it flew toward Hank's head. Not close enough to hit, but close enough that he flinched as it whizzed past his ear and into the hall, where it collided with the wall.

Hank spun around. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"If I were, you'd know."

Hank walked out into the hall and crouched down. He picked up the spoon and left with it. He hadn't shut the door, so Erik had to get up to do it. He could see broken plaster where the spoon hit the wall. Charles would be hearing about this, most likely.

Good. Ever since he learned the truth about what Charles was doing to him, Charles seemed to be avoiding him. If he was ashamed of what he was doing, Erik wouldn't let him hide from it.

Erik ignored his soup and went back to bed.

A half hour later, Charles came to see him. He had the bent spoon with him.

He held it up, and tried unsuccessfully to bend it back with his thumb. "Didn't I make it clear I wouldn't accept violence?"

Erik shrugged. "If I'd wanted to hurt him, I would have."

Charles dropped the spoon on the nightstand with a soft clunk. "I understand that Hank is an easy target for you to vent your frustrations at, but you owe him an apology. And while I'm not particularly upset about you ruining my grandmother's silverware, the fact is we only have so many pieces for you to destroy. And I'm not pleased about the dent you put in the wall. So I think you'll be eating without silverware for a while."

"Or you could let me go."

Charles pursed his lips. "You know that isn't possible. Not right now."

Erik was somewhat surprised when Hank returned that evening to bring him his dinner. Tonight, it was a sandwich. Nothing he needed silverware for. Tonight, there were two white pills on the tray.

"Charles wants you to take these," Hank said. "To help you sleep."

"And how are you going to make me? Are you going to shove them down my throat?"

Hank left without a word. Erik considered the battle won until a few minutes later, Hank returned with a hypodermic needle.

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Is that one of your concoctions? You'll forgive me if I don't trust your track record."

"It's just a sedative. It won't do anything to your mutation, if that's what you're worried about. And for your information, my serum works perfectly now. My track record is fine."

Erik scoffed and looked Hank up and down with disdain. "Your serum worked perfectly the first time, when it enhanced your mutation." He looked away. "You're not injecting me with anything." This time, Charles wasn't around to restrain him.

The needle snapped in two.

Hank stormed off in a huff. Erik wasn't surprised when he returned a few minutes later with Charles. Hank stood by the door with crossed arms while Charles parked his chair beside Erik's bed.

"You know we'd never harm you," Charles said with a sigh. "I just want you to sleep through the night. Is that so terrible?"

"I don't like being sedated," he said through gritted teeth.

They used to drug his food sometimes, in the Pentagon. He was rarely told why, but when he woke up, there was usually pain. Sometimes there were needle marks in his arm. Occasionally, this seemed related to procedures that were meant to keep him healthy—dental work and the like. But eventually he figured out that they were taking blood and tissue samples for research. He didn't know what the samples were being used for at the time, but now he wondered if they were being sent to Trask.

They never did anything worse than a bone biopsy, but Erik began to anticipate the day when he'd wake up and find that they'd amputated a limb or taken one of his eyes. Or the day when he wouldn't wake up at all. Every time he woke up after being sedated, he would pat himself down for incisions or other signs of trauma.

He didn't want Charles to know about any of this. He pushed the memories aside, but maybe it was too late. He could have sworn Charles' eyes widened.

Erik waited for him to say something.

When he spoke, Charles merely said, "If you feel that strongly, we'll do without the pills for now. But if you cause any trouble at night while we try to sleep, I will tell Hank to start giving you injections. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Erik said coldly.

Sometimes, Erik entertained the notion of killing Charles. He did this only in the very early morning hours when he knew Charles was asleep and unlikely to be listening in on his thoughts.

The idea brought him no pleasure, but it had to be acknowledged.

He'd come to two conclusions. The first was that he could never harm Charles only to save himself.

The second was that there was a chance, however slim, that the knots Charles had tied in his mind were never coming undone on their own, and that unless Charles undid his handiwork, Erik would spend the rest of his life tethered to the mansion.

His bedroom was at least as large as his cell had been. Larger, perhaps. But when he allowed himself to think about this, the walls started to close in. He'd never been afraid of Charles, and he still wasn't. But for once, he couldn't predict what Charles was going to do. And uncertainty had always threatened him.


	3. Corrective Measures

Charles had been remiss in handling Erik. He'd asked an awful lot of Hank, and it wasn't fair to expect him to deal with Erik on his own, or to bear the brunt of his frustration.

The next day, he decided to have Erik spend lunchtime with him, in his study.

"Don't think of this as a punishment. Think of it as a logical consequence of your actions. Honestly, I blame myself—I’m the one who put poor Hank in a position where he has to put up with being threatened and antagonized. I clearly underestimated how much supervision you'd need."

"Fuck you, Charles."

Charles sighed. "I'll ignore that. I understand your anger." He glanced up. "You're not eating."

He saw Erik's jaw twitch. "I'm not hungry."

He'd given Erik a piece of roasted chicken and some peas from last night's dinner. Nothing that was particularly messy for him to eat with his hands. It was undignified, yes. But it was just the two of them in the study, and evidently, dignity was a privilege that Erik could only have in small quantities.

"Tell me something, Charles—if you're so keen to play with my head, why don't you make me want to stay? It's such an obvious answer to your resentment toward me."

Charles laughed bitterly. "Do you think it's easy, being in your head? It's not enough that I've given you shelter, that I've fed and clothed you—now I have to make you grateful for it? After everything you've done, why should I have to do all the work?"

"I never asked for any of this. You must realize that I never wanted things to turn out the way they did. I wish every day—"

"That's how things work in your world, isn't it? Things happen. Or other people do things, and you merely react. It's never your fault, is it?"

Abruptly, Erik got to his feet and started for the door.

"Erik, where are you going?"

"Upstairs."

"You should eat. You had very little for breakfast."

Erik stopped by the door and turned around. "If I'm not permitted to leave this room, then tell me. Stop acting like I have a choice."

Charles wheeled himself out from the desk and started to move toward Erik. Erik's hand shot out, palm forward, and Charles' chair stopped. The metal creaked and shifted around him.

He locked eyes with Erik, and almost immediately, he saw regret. Erik dropped his hand, and Charles knew he realized that he'd gone too far. But it was too late. A line had been crossed.

It was one thing to fling spoons at walls or damage radiators. But there were certain things Charles couldn't abide, and using force against him was one of them.

Perhaps Erik would have apologized. Charles was in his head before he could, keeping him frozen where he stood. He made him walk to the center of the room and drop to his knees, landing on the rug with a soft thud.

Charles went back behind the desk and continued his work, and ignored Erik. He took a break after a half hour and collected the plate of now-cold food that Erik left untouched in the floor. He left Erik alone while he took the plate to the kitchen.

When he returned, be pointedly ignored Erik. He'd left Erik's mind conscious, and Erik could still control his breathing and maybe swallow or blink if he tried. But he couldn't move an inch.

Charles picked up a book he'd been reading and found his place.

If Erik wasn't sorry to begin with, he was after four hours. He'd done an admirable job of keeping mind calm, but now he was very aware of how stiff his back was and how his knees burned. He had to piss, and he was worried he'd be forced to wet himself.

Charles didn't want that. It was enough for him that Erik knew he could read these thoughts. He set down his book and wheeled himself closer to Erik.

"I think we're done, now. You can relax."

Erik slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. He took a deep, shuddering breath and his arms tremored. Leaning forward, he placed his forehead against Charles' knee.

Charles stroked his hair. " _That_ was a punishment, Erik," he said gently. "But it's over now, and you're forgiven."

He let Erik stay like that for a moment. Erik shifted at Charles' feet. He still needed the bathroom, but he seemed hesitant to get up.

"Why don't you go take care of yourself?" Charles asked. "When you come back, maybe we can play a game of chess."

Erik pushed himself to his feet. Once he's left the room, Charles began setting up the chessboard.

Erik wasn't at his best, but he put up a good enough fight to keep the game going until dinner. He didn't have much to say, and there was a cautious look in his eyes.

That evening, Charles insisted they eat dinner together in the study. This time, Erik ate in silence, picking up pieces of steamed broccoli and last night's chicken with his fingers. Charles could tell he was still unnerved from earlier, and he wondered briefly if he'd been too hard on him. Too cruel. But maybe Erik didn't understand gentleness. Maybe Charles' mistake from day one was assuming that being loved was enough to mold him.

The tangible signs of Erik's displeasure were multiplying. There was a noticeable decrease in the amount of usable silverware. The chandelier in the foyer, which his grandparents had ordered specially from France, was bent and twisted so badly that even Erik probably couldn't undo his mess.

Charles could control Erik's power if he wished, or even enlist Hank to make another version of the serum, but this would only allow Erik to believe that he could use his power to escape. It was better to let Erik tire himself out, and realize the truth. He wasn't going anywhere.

Erik's approach to conflict had always been to strike hard and fast, keeping the upper hand. Charles recognized the value of conserving his strength. Even keeping a light touch on Erik's mind was tiring. At first, he'd thought the headaches were withdrawal. He hadn't been off the serum for more than a few hours in years, and he wasn't drinking half as much as he used to, either. But now he suspected it was from the near constant use of his telepathy.

Still, he was expending much less energy than Erik was, and he could wait for Erik to tire himself out. Erik was stubborn, but he also had pride. He would get tired of eating with his hands because he couldn't be trusted with silverware. He would get tired of being treated like a prisoner.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Charles was reading alone in his bedroom when several stimuli hit him at once.

There was the sound of yelling, distant but distinct. There was soft groan of the metal vents and pipes warping and creaking in the walls of the mansion. And there was the flash of anger that doused Charles' mind like a bucket of cold water.

Erik and Hank were fighting again.

Fortunately, Charles was already in his chair. He made his way toward Hank's lab, the epicenter of the chaos, as fast as he could. He'd nearly reached the door when his head filled with pain. It was as real as though it were his own.

He wrenched open the door and took in the sight that greeted him. Hank had transformed into his Beast form, and his clothes and shoes were split at the seams. Broken glass littered the floor. Erik was leaning against a table, clutching his left arm. The metal shelves and tools in the room rattled, almost in time with Erik's ragged breathing.

"What's happening? Stop this right now!"

Hank growled softly. Erik's back heaved. His left shoulder dipped down unnaturally, and Charles realized it was dislocated.

"Erik—" Charles started.

Before Charles could do anything, Erik pushed sharply upward on his arm. He yelled through his teeth as his shoulder popped back into place, but the metal in the room stopped rattling.

Charles pursed his lips. Erik could have hurt himself worse, but it was too late to chide him for that now. Charles turned his attention instead to Hank.

"What happened here?"

Hank was still caught up in his animal instincts. Charles put his fingers to his temple and looked in their minds, instead. He saw Erik looking through the lab, and Hank finding him. He saw them argue, and Erik refuse to leave. He saw Erik lift his arm to use his power, and Hank grabbing it.

Erik had been looking for his helmet.

"Erik," Charles said, struggling to keep his tone calm, "please go to your room. I'll be there in a minute."

He didn't allow Erik the opportunity to refuse.

Once Erik was gone, Charles stayed with Hank while the latter calmed down.

"Is he all right?" Hank said. "I wasn't trying to _hurt_ him."

"I know you weren't. This is my fault, not yours. I haven't done enough to manage him."

"I told him to leave, and he wouldn't."

"He's very frustrated. I don't think he'll take your frustrations out on you anymore." He looked up into Hank's eyes. "Once you're more collected, I'll need you to look at his arm and make sure it's okay. We can't afford to take him to a doctor unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don't think he'll want me touching him...."

"Leave him to me."

 

* * *

 

"Is he all right?" Hank asked, looking at Erik's stiff body. Erik was sitting upright in his bed, exactly as Charles had posed him.

"He'll be fine," Charles said. "He's not suffering. He's not aware at all. It'll be good for us all to have a chance to cool off, I think."

It wasn't what Charles had wanted, but it was surprisingly easy to just...shut Erik down. It was more peaceful, certainly, to have some quiet for a change.

Hank seemed to find it unsettling, though. He avoided Erik's blank stare as he gently maneuvered Erik's arm out of its sleeve.

What else could Charles have done? They needed to examine Erik's arm, and he never would have let Hank touch him after what happened in the lab. He had too much pride.

Hank cleared his throat. "And how long are you...?"

"I'll let him wake up soon. I have better things to do than remember to feed him and give him bathroom breaks. You needn't worry about him."

In the end, it wasn't until the morning of the third day that Charles gave Erik back his autonomy.

When he woke, Erik jerked and scrambled into a sitting position. He looked around, confused. He clearly wasn't expecting it to be morning, or to find himself in bed.

"What happened?"

"Do you know what day it is?"

Charles could feel the gears working in Erik's mind, trying to fill in the empty spaces.

"Tuesday."

"It's Friday, Erik. You've been asleep."

Erik furrowed his brow. "You've...you've been controlling me?"

"Do you remember what happened? With Hank?"

Erik looked down at his arm in its sling and clenched his jaw.

"That cannot happen again," Charles said. "And your helmet is not on the premises. You needn't worry about looking for it." He held Erik's hand. "You asked me why I don't simply control your mind. Did it make things easier like you expected?"

Erik gritted his teeth. "I wouldn't know. _I can't remember._ "

"Do you think you'd like it if you woke up on day and realized that you'd lost a year? Or five? What would that accomplish? I know how important it is to you to be in control. I know how your anger fuels you. I've given you the privilege of being angry with me. Of knowing what's happening even if you don't like it. I don't want to take that away from you, but if you force my hand, you know what I'm capable of."

For a moment, Charles wondered if he'd been crueler than he’d intended. The rising horror in Erik's mind was stronger than he'd anticipated. Had he gone too far? Did he not know Erik's mind like he used to?

But Erik had needed a lesson, and Charles’ choice of discipline was painless and temporary. If he were cruel, he could have planted fear in Erik's head. He could have mined Erik's worst memories to punish him with, or created entirely new memories of horrors that never happened. If he wanted to show the true extent of his ability, he could have taken Erik apart memory by memory, removing or altering the things that made him who he was and re-molding him into someone he might have been. But Charles had not done that. He'd only taken the steering wheel for a few days and left Erik no worse for wear. And Erik had withstood so much worse.

 

* * *

 

A couple days later, Erik came to Charles in his study and laid out a collection of forks and spoons on the desk.

"See? They're as good as new."

Charles picked up one of the forks and held it up to the light. He found Erik's claim of "good as new" questionable, because in his experience, nothing that was bent could ever be put back quite like it was. But he had to admit it was impossible to tell if the tines were any less even than when his grandparents received the silver as a wedding present.

And besides, he'd _wanted_ Erik to take some responsibility, and failing to accept his efforts now might be cruel.

"I'm not sure about new, but it is quite an improvement. Thank you, Erik. Apology accepted. I'd like it if you joined us for dinner tonight."

He could sense Erik's hesitation. But the days of isolation in his bedroom were clearly beginning to get to him.

"Very well. If you insist."


	4. An Uneasy Truce

That night, Hank made spaghetti for dinner. Erik arrived to find that a place had been set for him at the table, and that there was silverware to eat with.

Hank and Charles had been talking when he entered, but stopped when he took his seat. Or rather, Hank stopped and awkwardly looked down at his plate.

If Erik had less pride, he might have tried to enlist Hank's help. He certainly wasn't going to now, and in any case, Hank was too spineless to help.

Erik poked at his food, taking small bites. The spaghetti wasn't great, but Erik knew any criticism would be unappreciated. After a few minutes, Charles engaged Hank in conversation again.

"I was thinking—we should update the lawn. I'd like to replace the dead bushes in the front, but also, perhaps we could get a volleyball net or something like that. If we get enough students, they'll need something to do outside."

Erik set down his fork. "You're reopening the school?"

"Yes. Well, planning on it. I'm not sure we can be ready by fall, but maybe a small class next year."

For the first time since they were reunited, Erik saw a hint of Charles' old enthusiasm. It reminded him of how Charles used to talk, back when he was getting his taste for teaching by convincing Sean he could fly.

Hank, who was sitting directly across from Erik, looked less confident. He shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth like it was a nervous habit and kept his eyes on his plate. After swallowing heavily, he said, "I mean, there's a lot we need to do before we'll be ready...."

"Of course," Charles said. "That's why I think a small class would be best, to start. But yes, we'll have to get this place in order."

Erik wondered what this meant for him. It had to be promising. If Charles wanted to re-open the school, he surely wasn't planning on keeping Erik around for long. He would have to let him go.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Erik retreated to his room. When there was a knock on the door, he expected it was Charles. It was a surprise to find Hank instead.

Hank was lugging a rotted cardboard box filled with old issues of _Time_ , _Life_ , and _National Geographic_ magazines.

"Charles had these in his office and said you could have them. It'll give you something to do, and, well, we figured you're probably behind on current events. "

Erik didn't know, honestly. He'd been locked up for over nine years, and it was a different world than the one he'd left. Clothes were different. Hair was longer. And he had no way of knowing what events had occurred that he knew nothing about.

"I had newspapers," he said, not wanting to reveal his ignorance.

It was true—he had. But his exposure to entertainment and outside news had been sporadic, at best. He got the sense that there had been some sort of policy of allowing him reading material, but this was followed at the whims of the guards. Sometimes months would go by with nothing at all.

Hank nodded and gestured awkwardly at Erik's arm. "Great. Uh, how is your arm? Is the sling helping? Do you need more aspirin?"

"Don't worry—you don't have to pretend you're sorry for almost ripping my arm off."

Hank looked down and put his hands on his hips. "I'm not apologizing. You started it. That doesn't mean I wanted you to get hurt, or for Charles to do...whatever he did."

"Go assuage your guilt somewhere else. I'm not interested."

"I said I'm not apologizing. You've done worse to me. And I'm the closest thing you have to a doctor, so if you need something—"

"I'd like to be alone."

Hank nodded. He looked relieved to be able to retreat, and Erik was relieved to have him gone.

He suspected Charles had asked him to bring the magazines as a sort of peace offering. It didn't work, but Erik was glad to have them all the same. There was a great selection. If he read everything thoroughly, and if his current idle routine continued, he would have enough to keep him occupied for weeks, if not months.

He started going through some of it that night, after stripping down to his undershirt and boxers. He was unused to reading for long periods. Even before prison, he hadn't been inclined to read much for recreation. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts, he supposed. But when he had time to kill, he could be relentless. After a few hours of reading, his eyes were getting blurry and his head started to hurt. But he didn't want to stop.

Meanwhile, whenever he came across something that was bound with staples, he carefully pried the staples out and tucked them away in his pillowcase. It was pointless, perhaps, when there was so much metal at his disposal and when Charles could opt to take control of his power at any time. But Erik had spent many years with nothing he could use to his advantage except his own resolve, and the small act of hoarding them made him feel like he was doing something productive.


	5. Strategic sacrifices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I unofficially decided to try to update this on Wednesdays, but was eager to do another update and figured the holiday weekend was as good an excuse as any.

Charles had given him an amount of money that seemed frankly excessive. Hank had asked how many clothes Erik needed, exactly, but Charles was cagey on that front, suggesting that he use his best judgement. The problem was, as far as Hank was concerned, Erik could keep trying to squeeze into Alex's castoffs indefinitely. Giving him belongings suggested a level of permanency Hank had never agreed to.

Hank found himself sorting through shirts at Sears, frozen by the prospect of selecting things Erik would _like_. Finally, he grabbed the first things he could find that were in his size and relatively cheap.

He took his time going home. For several minutes, he sat in his car in the Sears parking lot, thinking ridiculous things like how easy it would be to get on the interstate and go...somewhere. He wouldn't do it, of course. He'd given Charles a decade of his life. He'd _built_ a life at the mansion. He knew that the past several years had been hard on Charles, and he was glad—truly—that Charles had it in him to care about things again. But for Hank, the last decade had not been so terrible. It was selfish of him, perhaps, but he missed the quiet days of working in his lab, and the evenings when he and Charles would eat dinner together and talk.

And when Charles found a purpose again, Hank had allowed himself to imagine a brighter future. Imprisoning Erik in the mansion wasn't a part of it.

Ever since their last confrontation, Hank had been avoiding Erik. It wasn't like he felt _guilty_. Erik had started it, rifling through his lab and refusing to leave. But Hank had never been proud of how his instincts changed when his body transformed, and he wasn't proud of injuring someone who, perhaps, didn't have complete freedom to fight back.

He still wasn't sure what Charles had done to him after that. He just knew that in the aftermath, something unsettling had happened. Hank could tolerate Erik joining them for dinner—at least he didn't have to deliver meals to Erik's bedroom like a servant anymore. But after dinner, Erik and Charles would go off together to watch the news and...talk, Hank supposed. Sometimes they stayed shut in the living room or Charles' study for hours.

Some nights, if Hank walked by the closed door, he could hear the soft tapping of chess pieces. But once, he peeked into the living room and found the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa. Charles was stroking Erik's hair and the mangled remnants of a metal ashtray sat on the coffee table. Erik had his eyes closed and was taking large, uneven breaths.

Were they becoming close again? He knew how it'd been between them before. No one ever said anything, but Hank wasn't naive. Once, before Cuba, he'd seen Erik come out of Charles' bedroom in the morning.

It was tough not to resent Erik. There'd always been something special about being the center of Charles' attention, even when he was at his worst. It was hard to see Charles spend so much time on a man who'd betrayed them.

He wasn't _jealous_. He just didn't want Charles to be fooled.

Some mornings, Hank woke up hoping that Erik would simply be gone. It wouldn't be the worst thing, really, if he managed to escape. Charles would be angry and disappointed, but Erik was bound to betray him again eventually, no matter how carefully Charles locked him up.

Hank took a deep breath and started his car. He couldn't delay going home any longer.

 

* * *

 

When he returned from the mall, Hank saw that the living room door was half open. Erik was inside alone, watching TV. It was impossible to tell what sort of mood he was in, though lately Erik's moods had shifted from angry to depressed. He was quieter, and his acts of destruction were less noticeable.

Hank took advantage of the opportunity to leave the new clothes in Erik's bedroom, and then shut himself in his lab.

Hank spent a lot of time in his lab these days. It was easier than tip-toeing around Erik. He was brainstorming new developments to Cerebro when there was a knock on the door.

"Hank?" Charles said faintly from the other side. "Can I come in?"

Hank got up to let him in. Locking the door was a new habit he'd picked up. He stepped aside to give Charles room, and closed the door behind him. "I was just thinking about Cerebro. I think I can make some adjustments to help with the power consumption."

"That's great, Hank. Good work. Listen, I was wondering if you've had a chance to reach out to your contact at NYU."

Hank leaned against his work table and crossed his arms. "I'm going to meet with him on Monday. I didn't think we should talk about specifics over the phone, just in case."

"No, no, of course. That was smart. And you trust him?"

"I mean, I think I can sell him a good reason why I need a cadaver. But I don't know what the chances are that he'd be suspicious afterward. And I'm not crazy about the thought of dumping a body, or doing it so close to home. Maybe if we still had that Logan guy helping us out...."

"After we get the body, I can erase your contact's memory of it, if you think it'd be safest. As for the rest, we just have to make sure we choose an area that doesn't have any security cameras. I trust you to figure that out. New York is a big city. I don't think it would be traced back to us. But if you'd rather go further south, I have no objections to that."

"Let me give it some thought. What would we do after dumping the body? Just...wait?"

"We can arrange for an anonymous tip."

Hank sighed. "This is a lot of work for someone who doesn't deserve it."

He hadn't actually spent much time thinking about what Erik deserved. He certainly _didn't_ deserve to be rewarded, and living in Charles' home and taking advantage of his hospitality seemed like a reward to Hank.

"It'll be for the best. For all of us. We need to be able to take him out in public eventually, and while I can certainly shield him from being recognized, it would be a lot easier if no one is looking for him."

"I think him being recognized is the least of our concerns."

Charles was silent for a moment, and seemed to think about Hank said. Finally, he said, "Do you think it'd be possible to make some restraints without metal parts? Ones that would still be challenging for someone to escape from? This is hypothetical, mind you."

Hank was surprised by the question, but quickly jumped into it with academic vigor. "Sure. But putting him in shackles wouldn't stop him from ripping the pipes out of the walls. There are other options…."

Charles frowned. "I've considered it, but I don't want to take away his ability, even if it's not permanent. Erik would never forgive us if we forced him to take your serum. And I don't think it's the answer."

"I've also been working on a sort of force field that mutant powers can't penetrate. It wouldn't do much good when he's free to roam the house, but if we need to, we can make a space for him in the basement."

Hank was losing himself in his imagination. Looking at the question from a technical standpoint made him forget how morbid the topic was. He remembered himself when he saw the discomfort on Charles' face.

"I just can't imagine locking Erik up in a cell. I didn't bring him here for that."

Hank bristled a little at that. Charles was the one who'd brought the topic up. Hank had always been perfectly clear that he didn't think Erik should be there at all.

"It wouldn't be like the Pentagon. We could visit him, let him out sometimes."

Charles sighed. "We have to be careful with him—if he feels too threatened, he will fight back. I'm afraid if we locked him up, we'd never be able to let him out again."

"I guess I don't see the difference. He's already bored out of his mind."

Charles looked surprised. "Is he? He has books to read. He can watch television."

Was Charles really that obtuse? He was the telepath. "Exactly—he's gotten himself hooked on _General Hospital_ because he has nothing better to do."

Charles wrinkled his nose. "Erik is watching soap operas now?"

"Yeah, but he's embarrassed about it, so if try to go in the living room while he's in there, he's rude. He's also reading your genetics texts. If you ask me, I don't think he's ever had a hobby beside killing people."

"That isn't fair, Hank. He likes...chess. And other things, I'm sure. But I suppose you have a point. I should let him go outside. He would enjoy spending more time on the grounds, I'm sure. Getting fresh air."

"Can we trust him with that?"

"Certainly. He won't be able to wander far."

Perhaps Charles was right. Or perhaps Erik would find a way to run. If it meant having Erik out of the way, Hank supposed it didn't matter.

 

* * *

 

Erik wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the privilege of being allowed outside. Perhaps Charles felt guilty that Hank had nearly ripped his arm off. Perhaps spending more time together had warmed Charles' heart. Ultimately, it mattered very little.

The first thing Erik did, of course, was test the limits of Charles' control. Could Charles really keep him from leaving? But the farther he walked from the mansion, the harder it became to remember where he was going. The way he was drawn toward the mansion and repelled from all other directions reminded him of magnetism, and perhaps the familiarity of that sensation kept him from rebelling against it too strongly.

Walking the grounds closer to the mansion, however, was enjoyable. Erik had forgotten how much he missed fresh air and sunshine. After spending nearly a decade in a cell, he'd become accustomed to their absence.

Gradually, he started to run in the morning. He started slowly at first, mindful of his injured arm and other physical limitations. He'd kept in good shape during his imprisonment, but there'd been no space to run properly. Predictably, his endurance wasn't what it once was.

But Erik was nothing if not persistent, and after a month of his new routine, he felt younger and stronger than ever.

One morning, he was coming in from his morning run when Charles called out to him from the study.

"Erik, would you come here a moment? I want to check in with you." He sounded tense. He hadn't said anything, but it was clear that allowing Erik outside unsupervised made him uncomfortable. Maybe he was having second thoughts about permitting it.

Erik stood in the foyer and clenched his fists. Allowing Charles in his head wasn't the hard part. He'd always been okay with that. It was the obligation to willingly lay his mind bare upon request. It was that Charles thought that psychic strip searches were a kinder alternative to locking him in a cell.

He was of half a mind to ignore the request this time. If Charles wanted an excuse to keep him inside again, he'd give him one.

"Erik?" Charles called again. "Are you out there?"

Erik took a long, measured breath and stepped toward the study door, which was ajar. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Charles was sitting by the window with a book in his hands. If he hadn't heard Erik come in the front door, he might have seen him walking up the front path. This time, the swell of the curtain might have hidden Charles from view, but there'd been times when Erik saw him looking out that window while he ran laps around the mansion. He'd interpreted it as Charles keeping an eye on him, and always rewarded that by glaring back. Charles never flinched.

Charles closed his book and set it in his lap. He held it steady with one hand and worked the controls of his chair with the other.

"Have a seat. Did you have a nice run?"

"You tell me. Weren't you watching?"

"It's very important to me," Charles said in a measured voice, "that there are no secrets between us. When I was younger, I sometimes saw my gift as a curse. You can't imagine what it's like, knowing what's in people's minds. But it's fortunate for us both that I can know your intentions, isn't it?" He took one of Erik's hands in his and stroked it.

Charles must not have been reading Erik's mind very thoroughly, or he would have been more alarmed by all the traitorous thoughts Erik entertained.

"I know quite a bit more than you realize," Charles said. "Perhaps I've decided to pick my battles and let you have your...traitorous thoughts."

Erik considered what it would be like to lose his morning runs. He'd spent almost a decade of days that blended into each other with their emptiness, but now he was growing accustomed to having diversions.

"I think," Charles continued, "that deep down, you like having all my attention."

Erik smiled. "And I think you enjoy punishing me, and telling yourself it's for my own good."

Charles' mouth twitched, and Erik decided not to push any further. Once, he would have believed that Charles was too averse to violence to use his telepathy as a weapon. That had changed, apparently. In a way, telepathy was the perfect weapon for Charles—clean and bloodless.

Erik had never been one to flinch away from a fight, but he disliked seeing Charles that way. Despite everything, he still wanted to see Charles as he remembered him.

Erik pulled his hand away. "Now that you've reassured yourself that I'm not plotting to escape, may I take a shower?"

"Yes. Go on."

"Then...I could come back, if you want. We could play a game."

Charles hesitated and said, "I was in the middle of a book, but...yes, I'd like that."

 

* * *

 

A few days later, on a cool May morning, Erik learned of his death from the newspaper.

He was sitting on the back patio with a cup of coffee and the morning paper when he saw the headline: _Body of Mutant Terrorist "Magneto" Found._ For a moment, he just looked at it, unsure what to think. He quickly scanned the article for details.

It had to be Charles' doing. Erik didn't believe in coincidences, or mistakes of that magnitude. The humans wouldn't report his demise unless they were certain. A drowned body that was wearing his clothes and resembled him in height and build would hardly be enough on its own.

After he finished the article, he set the paper down on his lap and gazed out across the sprawling green lawn. His coffee would be getting cold, but he left the mug sitting untouched on the side table.

There were certainly benefits to being legally dead. It would be much easier to travel unimpeded now, assuming he could get ahold of a passport. Was that why Charles had done it? Was this a sign that he planned to let Erik go?

"Not quite. I'm sorry if that's the impression you got."

Erik blinked. For a moment, he thought Charles' voice was in his head, but when he looked over his shoulder, he saw Charles wheeling himself out onto the patio. The realization that Charles was reading his thoughts again was less important than all the questions running through Erik's head.

"I'm sorry," Charles said again. He looked sheepish. "I'd planned to talk to you about it before the news broke. I didn't think it would happen quite so soon."

"Why, then? If you're not letting me go, what does it matter if they think I'm dead? You can hide me here easily enough."

"It gives us options," was all Charles said.

"How did you get a body? The paper said they were able to match my fingerprints."

"Hank has connections. Planting a body was...distasteful, to be sure, but the individual had donated his body to science. I can sleep easily enough with that. Otherwise, it was really just a matter of planting the fingerprint record and getting into the head of the medical examiner. And then covering our tracks. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy. Hank and I have been planning this for some time, and Hank did quite a bit of the work. I just helped with the...mental stuff." He gestured around his head.

Erik tossed the paper on the side table. "I wish you'd spoken to me before you took it upon yourself to fake my death. Did you stop to consider that this gives them a victory against us?"

He'd wanted to inspire mutants to empower themselves. Even if he was in no position to lead the fight himself, he'd taken some comfort in the thought that those who saw the truth of his words would follow his example. What example did he set now that the newspapers were proclaiming his death? Did Charles understand what he'd taken from him?

Charles raised his eyebrows. "Us? I wasn't aware that our goals were so united. In any case, that wasn't my intention. But perhaps it's for the best. The world is healing, Erik. And mutants are finding a place in it. Do you really think that focusing on the hunt for mutant terrorists is what people should be doing right now?"

"So there's no room for me in this wonderful new world of yours?"

Charles cocked his head. "That's not at all what I'm saying."

"When I escaped the Pentagon, I didn't realize I was trading one indefinite sentence for another."

"I'm sorry that you see living here as a punishment," Charles said testily. "You're enjoying much more freedom now than you've had for the past decade. If I were you, I'd keep that in mind."

Charles' words were like a punch to the gut. Did he know how he sounded? How _patronizing_ this was? But Charles was right, of course—Erik had endured all this and more. The difference was that he'd never been held prisoner by someone he regarded as a friend before.

"You want me to blame myself, then? Is that what you need from me?"

Charles closed his eyes. "If only it were that simple. No, it won't make any difference."

"Then don't expect my gratitude."

He left his coffee and newspaper behind and strode off onto the grounds. Charles called out to him but, surprisingly, did not make him stop.


	6. A Questionable Turn of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik decides to try unconventional methods to improve things between him and Charles, but is not prepared for the results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the kink, sex, and dub-con related tags start to come into effect. Things start to heat up between Charles and Erik, but they don't start off on the best foot.
> 
> I'm not sure if there will be any more updates this month, because I have some writing commitments that are due by the end of the month, but I'm planning to return to a more regular update schedule in July.

Once, Charles had tried to teach Erik that there was a different, better way than anger and vengeance. Now Erik thought that perhaps it was time to teach Charles the reverse. Perhaps Charles needed to be angry with him.

"I was thinking we might have a conversation, if we could agree on a few facts first."

Erik was leaning against Charles' desk, idly floating Charles' letter opener in front of him. He made it spin around in slow, rhythmic circles. It calmed him.

Charles did not look up from his work. He was scribbling in a notebook, something about a budget for the school. He was either preoccupied tonight or he was in the mood to act indifferent toward Erik. He'd been petulant ever since Erik reacted poorly to the news of his own demise. There had been no chess after dinner.

"Oh? And what would those be?"

"First, I think we should agree that you're angry with me, and that you want to punish me."

Charles stopped writing. Without the scratch of his pen against the paper, the study was filled with an oppressive silence.

"I thought I was clear—"

"Oh, come off it, Charles. Don't give me that line about doing this for my own good. You want to punish me."

"I _am_ trying to do what's best. For all of us." Charles paused and added, "Certainly I'm angry sometimes. I believe I'm entitled to that, after all you've done. I try not to let that color my actions."

Erik turned to face him. He floated the letter opener down to the desk. "Perhaps you should."

"I'm sorry?"

"I've thought about it. I understand your anger. If it will help, I want you to punish me."

Charles furrowed his brow and chuckled incredulously. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You think I don't take responsibility for any of the things that I've done, but I do. Why else do you think I've allowed you to keep me here? Why else would I tolerate the way you've treated me?"

" _Allowed_?"

"Do you deny that I could bring this mansion down around us if I chose to?"

"No, but that would hardly benefit you. Not that you've ever exercised much restraint."

"I want this. I want you to punish me."

Charles leaned back in his chair and studied him closely, his expression betraying a mix of amusement and surprise. For once, Erik wished he was the telepath.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his voice taking on a dark edge. "What if I wanted to lock you in a cell? Or take your power from you? Do you expect me to think you'd be all right with that? No, of course you're not. I can read your mind, remember? So what are you—oh. I see." Charles raised his eyebrows. "Do you really think I want to _beat_ you?"

Erik scoffed. "Don't be hyperbolic. I know you wouldn't hurt me."

"Then honestly, what you're thinking seems rather more like a game to me. And I don't know that I'm interested in playing those sorts of games with you anymore."

Charles' expression was inscrutable, but the fact that he hadn't refused outright told Erik he was considering it. Charles closed his notebook and pushed it aside.

"I'll admit I'm intrigued. But this image in your mind of me whipping your back with a belt seems more like your style than mine. What if I wanted you to drop your trousers and bend over the desk instead? Would that still feel like a dignified punishment to you?"

Erik was surprised, but not deterred. "If that's what you want, I'll do it."

He was beginning to think that Charles wasn't going for it, after all. He didn't think Charles' suggestion was serious—Charles was simply testing him, pushing him to admit that he didn't mean it. Erik was far too stubborn to back down.

But Charles said, "Very well, then. Bend over the desk."

Erik took a moment to process. He had expected Charles to balk more at his proposal, and when he had first imagined letting Charles take out his frustrations physically, he had not imagined Charles interpreting it in quite this way.

But it was better, certainly, than Charles' recent preference for telepathic punishment. Pain was familiar. It was momentary and knowable. What Charles could do with his mind was not. And as for humiliation, Charles was the only person Erik had ever permitted to see him vulnerable.

Still, Erik hesitated. He glanced at the door. "Don't you think this would be easier if we went up to your bedroom?"

"Easier?"

"More private," he admitted, grudgingly.

"Hank is just as likely to overhear if we go upstairs. Lock the door if it'll make you feel better. But be quick about it, please. You were the one who asked for this, remember? I'm still not entirely comfortable with it."

Erik flicked his hand, engaging the metal lock. Then he slowly bent over the front of the desk, resting on his elbows. He felt ridiculous.

Charles wheeled himself around the desk and took a moment to find the right angle. Once he was satisfied, he leaned forward and placed his left hand on Erik's forearm. With his right, he struck Erik's ass hard, without warning or preamble.

At first, Erik was too shocked to react. The absurdity was more striking than the pain, though Charles wasn't holding back. That surprised him, somehow. He'd expected hesitation or gentleness. Apparently, he'd underestimated Charles' aggression. The force of the blows rocked Charles' chair, and the loud thud of Charles' palm against the seat of Erik's trousers filled the room.

Charles' frustration was palpable, but Erik couldn't help but think about the unspoken eroticism of Charles touching him this way. Charles used to give him little pats and swats during sex. It hadn't been like this, but it was familiar all the same.

The spanking abruptly stopped, but Charles kept his grip on Erik's arm.

"I know what you're thinking. This isn't for your _enjoyment_ , Erik. It's _discipline_." He let go of Erik's arm. "Drop your trousers."

Erik just looked at him. "Are you certain this is just about discipline?"

"Would you rather I take your pants down for you?"

If Charles was going to take control of him, there were a lot worse things he could do. If _this_ was how Charles wanted to take out his frustrations then...Erik thought he could accept that. He started to unbuckle his belt.

"Give your belt to me," Charles said.

Erik raised his eyebrows, but he handed it over. He pushed his pants to his ankles.

"Underwear too, I think."

Erik glanced toward the door. It was locked, but he didn't like the idea of Hank coming around to investigate if he heard something. But Hank was probably up in his lab. Erik pushed his briefs down to join his pants. Charles, meanwhile, had threaded the end of Erik's belt through the buckle to create a loop.

"Bend over."

Erik bent back over and waited. The doubled-over belt landed with a sharp crack, louder and harsher than the sound produced by Charles' hand. The sting was sharper, too, and Erik sucked in his breath as the blows rained down.

Charles whipped him like someone who'd never wielded a belt before. The blows were haphazard, some landing on Erik's ass and others on his thighs with no apparent pattern. After a moment, Erik adjusted and focused on riding it out. It hurt, but it was a satisfying pain, like sore muscles after hard work. He closed his eyes. The unpredictability of Charles' technique prevented him from truly losing himself to the rhythm, but when the blows finally stopped, he was startled by their absence.

Charles was breathing heavily from exertion, and in the sudden quiet, it was all Erik could hear. Erik opened his eyes and turned his head toward Charles. Charles was looking down at the belt, which he slowly set on the desk. Then he looked at Erik's ass.

"I've hurt you."

"No. I'm fine."

Charles backed his chair away and kept his head down. "I think this was a bad idea. I'm not sure why I agreed to it."

Erik slowly stood up. He bent to pull up his pants. " _Now_ you're questioning your judgement?" he asked, amused.

"I'm questioning _yours_. I'm not sure why I listen to you, sometimes. If you're all right, I think you should go upstairs. I have work to finish."

Charles retreated behind his desk, not looking Erik in the eye.

Perhaps this had not worked as Erik had hoped. Suddenly feeling exposed, he tucked his shirt into his pants and threaded his belt back through the loops. He left the study and went upstairs.

He collected his robe from his bedroom and went to take a shower. Before stepping in, he looked at his ass in the mirror. His skin was pink, with several crisscrossed lines where the belt had raised welts. He touched the welts tenderly, a little impressed by them.

He stood under the hot spray for several minutes without washing himself. He touched his cock, which wasn't hard but responded quickly to his touch. He realized he couldn’t remember the last time he'd jerked off. It was a pleasure he'd mostly denied himself during his imprisonment; the knowledge of the cameras that were focused on him all day and night usually soured him on the idea. But his cock hardened quickly now, like it was starved for attention.

With one arm braced against the shower wall, he stroked himself hard and fast. He screwed his eyes shut and, against all reason, found himself thinking of Charles.

 

* * *

 

For more than a week afterward, neither of them mentioned what happened.

Charles seemed keen to continue avoiding him. There were no more chess games after dinner. No more companionable evenings watching the news. Erik considered he may have misjudged. Despite everything Charles had done, spending the evening with him had become a part of Erik's routine, and he missed it. He missed Charles.

He should have hated Charles, but part of him still wanted things to be like they once were. He wanted the Charles he remembered.

He still thought about the spanking, and what it meant. Charles couldn't possibly expect him to see it as innocent. Could he?

One night, as he lay awake in bed, he decided it was time to find out. He got up and silently made his way down the hall, toward Charles' room. It was past midnight, but he knew Charles was often up late reading. Sure enough, he could see the light on under Charles' door. He knocked, and after a moment's pause, Charles told him to come in.

Charles was sitting in bed with a book in his lap. As Erik had suspected, he still looked wide awake.

"This is a surprise," he said. "What is it?"

Erik shut the door behind him. "I was hoping we might talk."

He hadn't been in Charles' bedroom since he was brought to the mansion. It was messier than he remembered. The wallpaper had started to peel and had not been fixed. The nightstand was cluttered with dusty picture frames and odds and ends such as coins and a pencil nub. There was a small television facing the bed now, and it was framed with piles of dusty books that frankly looked like a fire hazard.

The bed, too, was different. There was a bar installed now for Charles to pull himself up when he transferred in and out of bed.

"Was there something in particular?"

Erik didn't know how to respond, so he said, "You know, you're very obvious when you're avoiding me."

"I suppose I have been. I've been giving some thought to what you said before."

"Oh?"

"Perhaps I _am_ angry with you. I'm not sure there's anything you can do about that."

At least Charles was being honest for a change. Undeterred, Erik sat on the edge of the bed. "Can I try?"

Charles placed a bookmark in his book, closed it, and set it on top of a small stack on the nightstand.

"How do you intend to do that?"

"It's not enough to read my mind? You're going to make me say it?"

"It's essential that you tell me what you want, Erik. If you can't do that, you might as well leave now."

Erik swallowed. "I want...to stay with you tonight. I want things to be like they were. So I'll do whatever you want to do."

"You want me to fuck you."

Erik's face burned. This was not how he imagined this would go, and he thought about storming out. But if he did that, Charles might not give him another chance.

"Yes. I want you to fuck me."

"If I let you stay...I get to discipline you again. Does that sound fair? After giving it some thought, I think a red arse suits you."

Erik tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. "All right."

"Take off your clothes first. Let me see you."

The command was direct and devoid of desire. Once more, Erik thought about leaving and preserving his pride. Charles was not even being persuasive like Erik knew he could be; the first time they were together, in a motel room while on the road, Charles had murmured honeyed words as he coaxed Erik out of his clothes. He'd smiled like he was drunk on the mere sight of him, and had studied Erik's body with such desire and appreciation that Erik's defenses crumbled. Obviously, that was not how it would play out tonight.

But he'd come here to prove himself, and that was what he'd do. He took off his robe and laid it at the foot of the bed. Then he unbuttoned his pajama shirt and stepped out of the bottoms. He stood naked for Charles' inspection.

Charles watched him for a minute, his face impassive and betraying none of the desire Erik remembered. Erik locked his knees and stood as rigidly as a statue.

Finally, Charles gestured to a chair in the corner, which was covered in a pile of clothes. "I believe there's a belt over there."

Erik walked over to the chair. The belt was lying on top. He picked it up and weighed it in his hands. It was narrow but sturdy. He started to bring it to Charles, but Charles interrupted him.

"Can you spank yourself with it? Using your powers, not your arm."

The request surprised him. It would be a difficult maneuver, but he nodded.

"I'd like to see you try it, then. Not too hard and not too light. You were the one who suggested this, so you might as well do a good job of it."

Erik stood in front of the bed with his back to Charles. He used his power to levitate the belt behind him by the buckle. He hung it in the air vertically and tried to make it swing like a pendulum. The buckle was small in comparison with the length of the belt, and it took a few tries to build momentum. The tip of the leather hit him with a small snap.

It didn't hurt as much as when Charles had spanked him, but it stung in a manner that made him want to rub it away. He didn't. It was hard to get the belt to land on target, and a few swings went past his hips instead, but he managed a dozen or so light hits before Charles stopped him.

"That's enough. I'm not sure how effective this is, but thank you for trying."

Erik turned around and grabbed the belt out of the air. He looked at Charles, expecting to see disappointment, but Charles was breathing more heavily now, and was nibbling at his reddened lips. He'd enjoyed the display, brief as it was.

Erik walked over to the bed and held out the belt.

Taking it from him, Charles said, "Let's see if we can do a little better."

He directed Erik until he was on the bed next to him, on his hands and knees facing the other way. Charles sat up, folded the belt in two, and whipped him rapidly until Erik was squirming and in danger of losing his composure. He almost suspected Charles had been perfecting his technique in the last week.

After a solid minute of relentless strikes, Charles tossed the belt aside. Erik wasted no time—he sat up, straddled Charles' lap, and leaned over to kiss him. Charles tasted and felt just like he'd remembered. He squeezed Charles' shoulder through his pajama top with one hand, and ran his other hand up his shirt to feel his clammy chest, and then down to undo the drawstring of his lightweight pants.

Suddenly, Charles tensed and broke off the kiss. With one hand, he gave Erik's chest a calm but firm push. With the other, he pulled Erik's hand away from his groin.

"I think I need to be clear about something. I don't enjoy being touched where I can't feel it, and I don't see why I should pretend to enjoy it for your sake. Maybe one day, I'll feel like letting you suck my cock, but not now." He paused added, "In fact, I think I'd prefer it if you didn't touch me at all tonight."

Erik sat back on his heels. "You want me to leave?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"No. I want to watch you touch yourself."

Erik hesitated. He'd thought if he did this, it would break the tension between them and things would be more like they used to be. But there was an edge to Charles' voice. Perhaps this was a mistake. He hadn't counted on reopening a wound. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being punished.

Charles' expression hardened. "If you feel like you're being _punished_ because this isn't going like you imagined, then you can go back to your own room. Things are not going to be like they were."

"Damn it, I didn't mean—" he stopped. Had his thoughts offended Charles, or was this the direction Charles had expected this to go in all along? Did it matter? If he left now, Charles would infer whatever he wanted from it. "You're right—you never used to be this manipulative."

Charles didn't flinch, and for a long moment he didn't visibly react at all. Then he scoffed and said, "Says the man who thought he could garner favor with me by offering sex. Glass houses, Erik. Now, I seem to recall I asked you to touch yourself."

This wasn't what he'd pictured. For one thing, he'd always preferred to have sex in the dark. For another, sex had always been impersonal for him. He was used to being the seducer, the initiator. He offered little of himself. Charles was also used to being the seducer, but he used to accept that Erik had his walls.

But now _this_ was what Charles wanted. Erik tried to rationalize it, but all he could think about was Charles' eyes on him as he reached for his cock.

How many times had Charles seen him naked? Often enough. They'd shared hotel rooms even before things became more intimate between them. He'd never felt this on display before. And yet—part of him wanted this. He wanted to believe that stripping himself of his modesty and laying himself bare before Charles would demonstrate how serious he was about reconciliation. And he'd lost any expectation of modesty long ago, under the harsh watch of twenty-four-hour security cameras. If he could make himself defecate in a hole in the floor while guards probably watched on a screen somewhere, he should be able to do this. He should be able to use his body to give Charles pleasure.

And yet, he was frozen. He had his hand on his cock but he couldn't make himself do it.

When Charles spoke, his voice was softer. Less reproachful. "It's all right. Just take it slow. I like watching you. Do you want some lotion? Would that help?"

Erik shook his head.

Charles sighed. "You're clearly not enjoying this. Why don't you go?"

Erik's eyes widened. He didn't intend to _fail_. He looked down at his dick and started stroking himself hard and fast. The friction got him hard in spite of his nerves, but he knew if he wasn't careful he'd overstimulate himself before he could come.

Would Charles be disappointed in him if he couldn't come?

Fortunately, he'd never had much trouble getting himself off. Stubbornness and masochism had their value. He used to do it like this during his days of hunting Shaw. Lots of solitary nights in hotels where he wasn't particularly in the mood but needed to burn off stress so he could sleep.

He glanced up at Charles, not knowing what to expect. Disdain? Resentment? But Charles had his eyes locked onto Erik's groin. His lips were red and slightly parted, and his cheeks were flushed. His chest rose and fell.

Seeing that Charles was enjoying himself spurred him on.

"Lie down on your back," Charles said breathlessly. "Beside me."

Erik scrambled into position. He spread out on his back and closed his eyes. By now he was leaking pre-come, and he spread a little on his fingers to lubricate his hand. It wasn't much, but at least he wouldn't irritate his cock too much before he could get off.

With his eyes closed, he was surprised when Charles touched his chest. He flinched but quickly relaxed. He didn't want to scare Charles off, make him think his touch was unwelcome. It wasn't.

To speed things along, he used his other hand to rub his balls. They were firm and tight from arousal, and sensitive to touch.

Charles ran his hand across Erik's pecs. He pinched one of his nipples and rolled it between his fingers. It hurt a little, but felt good. He arched his back into it and stroked himself even harder, knowing that if he could push himself over the edge at any point, it would be now. He tensed his whole body and let it happen.

He opened his eyes and saw Charles leaning over toward the nightstand. He grabbed a handful of tissues from a box and started to wipe Erik's stomach clean. Erik winced when Charles cleaned his cock—he was sensitive down there, already tender from the rough manhandling he'd given himself.

Charles used his index finger to wipe up a stray drop of come. He lifted his finger to Erik's lips.

Erik looked at him and scowled. "That's disgusting."

"How is it any more disgusting than when I used to give you head?" Charles asked, amused. "I swallowed."

"I never asked you to."

"Taste it and I'll give you a kiss."

"No, Charles." He turned onto his side, facing away from him. He had his limits.

He heard Charles sigh. Charles wiped his finger clean and lay on his side next to Erik, spooning against him. Erik maneuvered himself under the covers and crossed his arms over his chest.

"What's wrong? I thought you enjoyed yourself." he touched Erik shoulder. "You can't have really thought it'd be like before. If anyone is entitled to be disappointed by that, it's me."

Erik took a deep breath and didn't look at Charles. "I'm not disappointed. It was what I wanted. Does it matter if I enjoyed it?"

"Of course it matters. We won't do it again if you didn't."

"In that case, I enjoyed it. Happy?"

Charles sighed again, but didn't say anything. The bedcovers rustled as he lay down beside Erik. He draped an arm over Erik's waist. Erik started to flinch away but stopped and put his hand on Charles' arm.

"Why don't you get some rest?" Charles said softly. "You can stay here tonight."

He was using his power. Erik could tell. He wanted to tell him not to, that he didn't like being put to sleep like this. But he didn't want to stay awake, either, and there was no way he was getting to sleep on his own tonight. He closed his eyes and let it happen.


	7. Cognitive Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! July will be another slow month for updates because I'm going to be on vacation and I have a couple other summer writing commitments to finish, but I was eager to post an update.

If anything, Erik's ass and thighs looked worse now that the welts were pink and stood in relief against his pale skin. If he'd wanted, Charles could have counted each blow he'd delivered. He ran his hand over the welts and felt Erik tense slightly as he fought the reflex to shrink away. But he stayed where he was, lying on his stomach on Charles' bed with his pajama bottoms pulled down to his thighs.

Charles scoffed. "I can't discipline you now. You're still recovering from last night."

Erik propped himself up on his elbows and looked at him. He smiled, but his mind and eyes betrayed his displeasure. "I'm fine. You know I can take worse."

"I know that, but I'm not going to brutalize you. Besides, this is my fault. I shouldn't have promised you more spanking after I was so hard on you."

Erik was clearly unhappy with this, and Charles questioned the wisdom of what they were doing. It was one thing to accept that Erik got some enjoyment from the pain. That came down to endorphins, and Charles could understand that quite easily. And if Erik wanted it, it didn't seem like such a bad thing to do to him.

The idea that Erik _wanted_ to be whipped and paddled on a regular basis might have assuaged any guilt Charles felt, or it might have frustrated him that Erik had taken advantage of his justified anger to goad him into something he was not entirely comfortable with.

Instead, Charles was mostly troubled by the idea that Erik saw it as a compromise. What did he think he was getting in return for letting Charles punish him in this way, and what did it say about Charles if he chose to continue ignoring the matter?

Perhaps Erik simply didn't want to go back to his own bedroom. Charles had given little thought to how the years of imprisonment might have affected him. Perhaps Erik didn't want to be alone.

"It's all right," Charles said with a sigh. "Really. Your bottom looks very sore to me. I think you've been disciplined enough. Why don't we just relax tonight? You can stay here with me."

With a small huff of disappointment, Erik hitched up his pajama bottoms and climbed under the sheet.

"Fine," he said, with a tone like he was doing Charles a favor, "I'll stay."

He draped an arm over his eyes. Charles wondered if he was being rude by not offering to turn down the light, but realized that Erik was drifting off just fine. Erik had always managed to go to sleep remarkably quickly for someone with so much weight on his mind, a skill Charles assumed came from spending most of his life without a steady home and sleeping in whatever places he found himself in.

Charles, meanwhile, wasn't tired at all. But he had his book—a spy novel that he knew he wouldn’t be able to put down. He was glad Erik was too tired to tease him about his choice of reading material.

It was nice, in a way, to have Erik beside him again. This wasn't what he'd wanted or expected when he brought Erik back to the mansion, but surely it was a sign that things were improving. That Erik was growing more content.

He was still engrossed in his book an hour later, when there was a soft knock on the door. For a second, Charles forgot that Erik was beside him, and he said, "Come in."

Hank opened the door and peeked in. He froze when he realized Charles wasn't alone. Erik, who was facing the wall, didn't stir.

"It's all right, Hank. You won't disturb him."

Hank had always trusted Charles' judgment, but now it was obvious from the look in his eyes that he was holding his tongue. After a moment of stony silence, he asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Charles closed his book. "He didn't want to be alone. I think he sleeps better this way. Did you need something?"

"I just, uh, forgot to mention that I'm heading into town in the morning to run some errands. In case I'm gone when you wake up."

"Thank you for letting me know."

Erik shifted, but didn't lift his head. Hank gave him one last disapproving look and shut the door.

 

* * *

 

Hank had planned to ignore what he saw, but in the morning, he realized he couldn’t. Was he supposed to ignore what was happening? Hank wasn't sure what would concern him more—that it was all Erik's idea or that it was Charles'.

He sought Charles out in his study after lunch.

"Am I supposed to pretend everything's normal? Are we pretending Erik _isn't_ a prisoner? Because I'm not sure I'm capable of that level of cognitive dissonance."

Charles' eyes were weary. "Was it better when he was putting holes in the wall and threatening you with silverware? Even I could see that situation wasn't sustainable. We were all miserable. I would've thought you'd be happy not to have to deal with him as much."

Hank crossed his arms. "Right," he mumbled, "letting him sleep in your bed really screams 'self-sacrifice.'"

Charles didn't seem to have a response to that. All he said was, "May I ask that you not let Erik know that you know? I'm afraid it'd make him uncomfortable."

 

* * *

 

Over the years, Hank had become accustomed to having the kitchen to himself, particularly in the morning.

Charles had never been an early riser. At his best, he enjoyed reading and working late into the night. At his worst, he would nurse a bottle of scotch until he sank into oblivion. Either way, this meant that Hank spent his mornings alone, reading the paper at leisure while he ate his Cheerios.

This had changed abruptly the first time he stepped into the kitchen to find Erik standing at the stove, frying an egg. Erik was dressed in sweats, and had clearly come in from a run.

They shared a look of guarded silence, like two cats that had crossed each other's territory and were now trying to get around each other without a fight.

Hank, unprepared to retreat, went about his routine as though Erik wasn't there. Erik kept cooking his breakfast, and did not offer Hank any.

To Erik's credit, he at least washed the dishes when he was finished.

That was how things went from then on. Occasionally, when Hank was lucky, Erik got up earlier and had finished his breakfast by the time Hank got up. But on most mornings, they sat at the kitchen table in silence and divided the morning paper as diplomatically as they could. Hank ate his Cheerios and kept his eyes down on the paper.

They were always completely silent save for the soft clinking of silverware against china. So it was a surprise when, one morning, Erik sighed softly and said, "May I make a request?"

Hank set his spoon down and let it clink against the bowl. "What?"

"The next time you decide to play your records all night and smoke marijuana, perhaps you can remember that my bedroom is very close to your lab."

" _Excuse me?_ " Hank cleared his throat. "Maybe you can remember that you're a technically a prisoner, not a houseguest."

"As you've made abundantly clear. So I put myself at your mercy," Erik said coldly. He picked up his fork and pressed his finger against the tines, as if testing the sharpness. He floated it a couple inches in the air, looked Hank in the eye, and raised his eyebrows.

"Are you seriously going to threaten me?" Any lingering guilt he might have felt for injuring Erik the last time they fought dissipated then and there.

Erik continued to stare at him for a long moment. Then he grabbed his fork out of the air and stabbed at his eggs. "Perhaps I will, if you continue to keep me up all night with whatever passes for popular music these days."

Hank clenched his teeth and opened the newspaper so roughly that one of the pages ripped.

But if there was one thing that finding Erik in Charles' bed told him, it meant he had to face the possibility that Erik would be staying for the foreseeable future. And that avoiding him wasn't working.

One morning the following week, Hank skipped his morning serum dose and allowed himself to transform. He strode into the living room, bolstered by determination.

Erik was lounging on the sofa, levitating one of Charles' metal bookends while _Hollywood Squares_ played in the background.

"Get up," Hank said, delivering a light kick to one of the sofa legs. "I have repairs to do and you're helping."

Erik looked up, eyes narrowed. Hank put his hands on his hips and prepared to stare him down.

"Did Charles send you?"

"Do you seriously think Charles gives that much thought to the upkeep of this place? I once went four months without mowing the lawn, and he never even noticed."

Of course, Charles hadn't been at his best back then. Hank expected he'd have more pride now, especially with wanting to start the school up again. But even at his best, Charles had been mostly oblivious to what went into maintaining the mansion and grounds.

"But," Hank continued, "I'm sure if I remind him of everything I do, he'll agree you need to pull your weight instead of...whatever you're doing."

Erik looked Hank up and down. "Do you expect me to find you intimidating like this?"

Hank huffed. "Don't flatter yourself. I work better like this." He looked at the TV. "I thought you said this was the worst show on television."

Erik flicked his hand and the bookend landed on the rug with a soft thud. Another gesture and the TV clicked off. "Fine. What needs to be done?"

Hank blinked, a little surprised that his plan had worked. "Well, uh, there are some loose roof shingles. And there are some gutters that need to be cleaned and fixed."

"Sounds easy enough."

"You can wear my old boots. I left them in the hall outside your room."

Erik went upstairs to change. For a few minutes, Hank wondered if he was actually going to return or if he planned to leave him waiting like a fool. But then he came down the stairs in jeans, a t-shirt, and Hank's old boots.

A few minutes later, Hank was leading him around to the back of the mansion, where one of the gutters had gotten dented in by a falling branch during the last big storm they had.

There was nothing seriously wrong with the mansion, but all around were small signs of neglect. The grass was a little too long. The hedges hadn't been trimmed. Some of the paint around the windows was chipped.

"This place has seen better days," Erik remarked.

"Charles hasn't exactly seen any reason to hire a landscaping service or a handyman in a while. I'm not saying I've been better. Obviously, I've let some things fall by the wayside. But a place this size is a lot for one person to manage."

While Hank spoke, Erik waved his hand lazily. The bent gutter straightened as if it were made of rubber.

"Wow. I should have put you to work months ago."

Erik looked pleased with himself, but Hank was too happy about the prospect of cutting a hard day's work in half to worry about whether he was stoking Erik's ego.

Nothing was forgotten, but the tension was broken, and the next hour passed almost pleasantly. There was an unspoken contest of who could use his power more effectively. Erik hammered loose shingles in place while floating high above the ground. Hank scaled the wall and clung to the brick with three limbs as he cleared dead leaves out of the gutter with his claws.

A window opened beside Hank's leg, and Charles stuck his head out, looking first at Erik and then Hank.

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing the roof and cleaning the gutters," Hank said.

"Ah. Well, thank you." He took one last look at Erik, who was still floating in midair, before disappearing back inside and shutting the window.

When both Erik and Hank were back on solid ground, Erik said, "I could take care of this grass, if you'd like. I'd be easy enough for me to manage the lawnmower."

The thought of Erik wielding a lawnmower with his power seemed somewhat unsafe, but Hank had always hated yardwork and wasn't about to turn down an offer of help.

It appeared to be no work at all for Erik to control the lawnmower while standing several feet away in the shade of the mansion.

Hank, meanwhile, loped down the driveway toward the gate. Mail should have been delivered by now. He didn't like to check it in this state—he always feared that a passing car would spot him and the next day's newspaper would have an article about a Sasquatch sighting. But it would take too long to go inside and administer his serum, and sending Erik past the front gate was out of the question. So Hank decided to be quick about it.

There was a small rectangular package wrapped in brown paper stuffed into the mailbox. It was addressed to Charles. Hank tucked it under his arm and ran back to the mansion.

He was about to set the package on the table by the front door when Charles came wheeling out of his study in a rush.

"Ah, it came! Wonderful! Thank you, Hank."

He took the package, set it on his lap, and retreated back into the study. Hank raised his eyebrows, wondering what the excitement was about, but didn't give the package much more thought. He went to the kitchen to get a drink, and decided on a whim to take two beer bottles outside.

Erik was finished with that part of the lawn. The lawnmower was shut off, sitting in the grass several feet away. Erik was sitting on the front steps, squinting in the sun. Hank gave him one of the bottles and sat down beside him.

For a few minutes, they sat together in silence. Hank was taken with the urge to ask Erik about what was going on between him and Charles, but he held his tongue.

Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "You know, I was holed up for a while before I figured out the serum, so I spent a lot of time reading and working in the lab. I got pretty good at textile engineering, actually. You know, designing fireproof fabrics and—"

"Is this going somewhere?"

"I'm just saying. You could teach yourself calculus. Or I have a crude cockpit simulator in the attic. Or, I don't know, you could learn Finnish. I think there's a book on it in the library for some reason."

Erik took a swig of beer and looked away. "I don't need your pity."

"I don't _pity_ you," Hank said, surprised by Erik's reaction. "It's not pity to see that you don't have enough to do."

Charles might have been the telepath, but Hank wasn't sure if he was really aware of how bored and depressed Erik seemed sometimes. Yes, he cooked breakfast and went running, but he also spent long hours sometimes lying around in the living room or his bedroom, seemingly doing nothing.

It wasn't pity to worry about what Erik would do if it became too much.

"And I suppose you would know about that, from all those years you spent hiding."

Hank growled softly. "You know what I think about when you try to insult me? How you tried to kill me that day in DC. And now I'm the one who buys your food and clothes, and I'm the closest thing you have to a doctor. So how did that work out for you?" Hank shook his head. "Do you ever stop to think about everything I've done for you? Let's see—I helped break you out of prison. I've cooked for you. I've tried to stop playing records after ten o'clock so you can sleep. Oh, and I stole a cadaver, dressed it in your clothes, and dumped it in a river bank. Let's not forget that."

Erik sniffed. "You didn't do any of that for _me_."

That, at least, was true.


	8. Charles' present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has a surprise for Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. I meant to post this much sooner, but life was hectic and I realized I wanted to do more re-writes than I originally planned on (this is what happens when you write most of the plotty parts but need to flesh out the porny bits). Thank you for your patience! Now that I'm done with this chapter and my schedule has calmed down a bit, I should be able to post more frequent updates again.

Erik could barely remember the last time he saw someone other than Charles and Hank.

Erik didn't have to be convinced to stay out of sight while the contractors were there, but he couldn't fight the instinct to see the presence of strangers as an opportunity. Of course, without his helmet, any escape attempt was pointless. But while he peeked out from behind the curtains at the rusted truck in the driveway, he let himself imagine.

"You'd take innocent people hostage?" It was Charles, and he sounded disappointed. "Have I really done anything to drive you to that?"

Erik glanced over his shoulder. Charles was sitting in the doorway. "Policing my thoughts now?"

"Only when I find them concerning."

Turning back to the window, Erik watched as Hank bid farewell to the two men and they got into their truck to go. He wondered how long it would be until he saw any more new people.

"A basketball court?" Erik said, intentionally changing the subject. "Aren't there more important things to see to before you reopen your school?"

"I'm not the one who will be pouring the concrete. I just write the check. I want this to be a proper school, the sort of place parents will want to send their children to."

"And how do I fit into that vision? Will your brochure boast about the mutant extremist you're holding prisoner? Or were you hoping I'd be the handyman?"

Every time Erik or Hank had brought this point up, Charles had changed the subject. This time was no exception.

"By the way, what did you do to your hair? The back looks very strange." Charles sounded like he wanted to laugh.

Erik put a hand over the back of his neck and turned around. Charles just wheeled around him, determined for a look.

"Hank led me to believe he could cut hair." Erik still couldn't decide if it was for the better that Hank stopped trying to even it out. If Hank had tried any longer, Erik probably would have ended up bald.

"Ah. To be fair, he probably thought he could. He trims mine for me. I'm sorry if I've made you feel self-conscious about it. Can you kneel down for me? I'd like to take a look."

Erik considered protesting, but decided it wasn't worth it. He knelt beside Charles' chair and awkwardly bowed his head.

"I think you just like seeing me on my knees," he said.

"It is a nice sight." Charles ran his fingertips across the back of Erik's head. He gently tugged on the hair. "Your hair doesn't look so bad from this angle. I'm sure we can salvage it."

"Don't bother," Erik muttered. "It's not like anyone sees me."

"Of course it matters. And perhaps you'll want to shave, too."

"You don't like my beard?"

"I didn't say I don't like the beard. It's just that Hank believes it's a sign of depression."

"Why?" Erik snapped. "Because he watched as you let yourself go and knows what to look for?"

"As I said," Charles said calmly, "I think you look good with a beard, so it's really your call."

"How generous of you."

Charles clicked his tongue. "Please stop talking. I have a surprise I wanted to give you tonight, but your mood is making me reconsider."

"Do you want me to stop thinking, too?" Erik asked, though the mention of a surprise piqued his curiosity. And he'd learned by now that any satisfaction gained from venting his frustrations had its limits.

Charles stroked his hair, and Erik ignored the ache in his knees from the hardwood floor.

 

* * *

 

 

When Erik came to Charles' bedroom that night, he was clean-shaven. Charles, who was sitting in bed, smiled politely.

"You shaved your beard."

Erik stroked his chin. "I felt like it."

Charles answered with a faint murmur. He sensed that Erik had done this to be contrary, either because he wanted to prove Hank wrong or because Charles liked the beard. But he wouldn't reward him with a reaction.

In preparation for Erik's visit, Charles had stripped down to his boxers. He'd been waiting for almost a half hour, now, and was starting to get antsy. He beckoned Erik over with a crook of his finger, which was only slightly less demanding than summoning him telepathically.

As Erik sat on the edge of the bed, Charles reached for a rectangular box that was on the nightstand.

The purchase had been a whim. A foolish one, perhaps. In the days between placing the order and waiting for it to arrive, Charles' resolve had wavered. He'd thought he might hide the toy away for a while. But then when he saw it, he knew he had to use it.

Charles lifted the lid off the white cardboard box and tilted it toward Erik. Inside was a smooth, rounded metal shaft. Its reflective surface shone under the light from the bedside lamp.

Erik looked at it and didn't say anything.

Charles responded to Erik's silence with an explanation. "You used to enjoy getting fucked. I must confess it gave me great pleasure to know that about you. I don't think anyone else has had the honor of seeing how you respond to prostate stimulation. In fact, I don’t think you knew that about yourself until I taught you. I'd like to watch you fuck yourself."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Metal? Really?"

"Practical, isn't it? You can keep your hands free." Charles cocked his head. "Do you not like it?"

Charles could admit to himself that pleasing Erik had not been his primary motivation in procuring the dildo. Still, he'd hoped that Erik would enjoy it. Charles could sense that he was curious, at least.

"I admire your imagination, Charles," Erik said, though his tone was as biting as it was appreciative. For Erik, that counted as diplomacy.

"Good. Now, take off your clothes."

It was a foregone conclusion that Erik would obey. He'd gotten most of the rebellion out of his system months ago. As Erik untied his robe, Charles collected a small jar of petroleum jelly and some tissues from the nightstand. But before proceeding, he paused. Something had to be said.

"I can read your mind, of course. But all the same, I'd like to make sure we're in the same page. You do realize that I won't let you go simply because you sleep with me? I couldn't stand it if you thought I was taking advantage."

The flash of anger in Erik's eyes spoke as strongly as his mind. "Do you really think I'd prostitute myself for freedom?"

"No, I don't," Charles said calmly. "And I trust you don't find me capable of taking advantage. But I do understand how this might look to an outside observer. And I understand you may have hopes. That you might think that because things are going so well, I may change my mind. It's important to me that you understand."

Just because he cared about Erik didn't mean he would forget the bigger picture. If anyone should have appreciated that, it was Erik.

"I understand," Erik said softly.

Charles stroked the side of Erik's face. "If this disappoints you, you're free to go back to your bedroom. I'm not stopping you."

Whether Erik was capable of swallowing his pride and admitting to ulterior motives was another matter, but not one that was any of Charles' concern. He'd laid his cards out on the table. Erik could either accept them or not.

"It won't be a problem," Erik said. He slipped his robe off and reached for the waistband of his boxers.

Charles exhaled. His mouth relaxed into a small smile. As he unscrewed the jar of lube, he said, "Do you want me to do you first? I imagine it's been a while. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"I can take it," Erik said as he pushed his own boxers down.

Though Charles expected this answer, he found it unsatisfying. "Actually, I don't think you get a say. I'd rather make sure you're prepared. Come on, turn around for me."

Erik hesitated for only a moment. Charles bolstered himself for an argument about not needing foreplay. But ultimately, Erik said nothing. He shuffled around so that his back was to Charles and straddled his legs. Charles smiled, pleased. He gently pressed on Erik's back, guiding him to bend over.

He placed his hands on Erik's buttocks and spread them. Erik made a small noise of indignation at being exposed like this, but didn't try to stop him.

Charles took a moment to appreciate the view in front of him, and then picked up the jar of lube.

Erik inhaled sharply as Charles slid two slick fingers inside him. Erik has never needed much in the way of preparation, but Charles recognized the value in drawing things out. He suspected Erik was grateful for it, deep down.

He found Erik's prostate, and teased it with feather-light strokes until Erik's breathing quickened and his thighs started to tremble.

He wondered if he could make Erik come just from this. Though he couldn't see it from this angle, he was sure Erik's cock was starting to get hard. But when he thought Erik was starting to enjoy himself _too_ much, he stopped, pulling his fingers out abruptly and eliciting a soft grunt from Erik.

With his clean left hand, Charles greased up the dildo until he was satisfied. The metal was already so smooth and flawless that Charles had complete faith in Erik's ability to handle it.

"It's ready, now. Take it, but don't use your hands and don't move."

Erik hesitated, and Charles clicked his tongue. "You used to enjoy showing off for me. It's not as big as a satellite, is it?"

The dildo jerked out of Charles' hand and floated in the air as though it were being carried by a ghost. Charles smiled.

He gripped Erik's hips and pulled up, forcing Erik to present himself. He tapped the inside of his thighs, bidding him to spread them more. He knew that an unspoken part of Erik rebelled against being displayed like this, and that made his cooperation all the more sweet. But another part of Erik was excited by this. The anticipation came off him in waves and affected Charles like a drug.

Finally, when Charles was satisfied, he said, "There. You can proceed."

He knew Erik was perfectly capable of manipulating metal that he couldn’t see. It was an extrasensory skill much like Charles' telepathy. But Erik took the task of maneuvering the dildo slowly. When the metal tip touched his skin at last, his hole clenched. Charles held his breath as he watched.

Just as he was about to give Erik another piece of encouragement, Erik breached himself with the dildo. Charles watched, enraptured, as it stretched him open. His tight hole widened around the gleaming metal.

Charles planted his hands on Erik's buttocks and kneaded him while he watched. The dildo went in, in, in.

"I think you can insert it deeper than that."

"Do you want to take over?" Erik snapped.

It was tempting to call his bluff. Charles almost wished he was the one fucking Erik. It might have been possible for him, with some patience. But he was getting too much satisfaction out of making Erik do all the work. Making him earn the right to touch him. And while Charles' telepathy didn't come close to replacing the feeling in his legs and his cock, the lack of sensation challenged him to focus on his mental potential. When he dipped into Erik's mind, he could feel Erik's pleasure almost as acutely as if it were his own. It flowed from his brain down through his nerves and veins.

He dug his fingers into Erik's hips hard enough to leave bruises. His gaze remained fixed on the metal shaft as it thrust in and out of Erik's tight arse. That arse proved too tempting, and Charles landed a hard slap on Erik's right cheek, and then his left. Erik grunted but soon adjusted, and continued to fuck himself while Charles lazily smacked him for a few minutes.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Charles grasped the end of the dildo. Erik strained for a moment, and then released his hold on it. Charles gave him a few hard thrusts and then let go.

"Turn around," he ordered, "but keep it in. If it falls out on my clean sheets, I'll be very disappointed."

Erik awkwardly sat up and twisted around so that he was facing him, all while clenching his arse to keep the dildo from sliding out. His cock was rock hard and pressed against his stomach. Charles pulled him in and kissed him. Erik tensed.

Pulling back, Charles raised his eyebrows. "What's the matter? I thought you wanted to touch me. You've been acting very deprived over it."

"Will you enjoy this? I thought you said—"

"Thank you, Erik, but that's not your concern. I've decided I want you to touch me now."

He pulled Erik close, trapping his erection against his stomach. He gave Erik a rough, brutal kiss. Then he guided Erik's head so that his lips and tongue touched his neck. Then he guided Erik's head lower, so that his tongue could lick his left nipple. He snaked a hand between their bodies and jerked Erik's cock until he felt a wet splash of come against his stomach. But he made Erik continue to worship him with his lips and tongue until he was satisfied.

Then he collapsed back against the pillows, and said, "Go clean yourself up and wash your new toy. I'll be there in a moment—you've made a mess of me."

 

* * *

 

Despite his exhaustion, Erik awoke just as the sun was coming up. Charles was asleep beside him, and the pale morning light was just enough to tell that he looked ridiculously peaceful after what had transpired.

Erik turned onto his back. He moved slowly, mainly to avoid waking Charles, but he still tensed when his ass touched the bed. He was raw and sore--both inside and out. But the pain was cathartic. He had not forgotten the humiliation that had left him so conflicted last night, but now it was joined by relief that the dam had broken between them, and satisfaction at knowing that a few months ago, Charles would never have allowed him to spend the night naked in his bed. It was progress of a sort that Erik could work with.


	9. The outing

Charles watched while Erik made dinner. It was a nice sight—a sign that he was finally settling in and feeling at home. Charles had to be careful not to say that, though. Erik was liable to regress just to be contrary.

Erik was using his powers to multitask, stirring a pot with a metal spoon while he focused on cutting up raw chicken. He ignored Charles.

"I do hope you're planning to share this wonderful meal with me and Hank."

Erik didn't look up. "I'm surprised you're not worried I'll poison you."

"You know I'm not. Even if you wanted to hurt us, you're not a poisoner, Erik. It isn't your style."

The dinner was delicious. Erik was a surprisingly good cook for someone who'd spent so much of his adult life traveling and languishing in a prison cell.

 

* * *

 

That night, Charles gave Erik a sound spanking before bed.

It was quite a comfortable position. At least, it was for Charles. Perhaps not for Erik. Charles had to admit that this arrangement was starting to suit him. It was nice to see Erik do as he was told, even if Erik only did so when it suited him (which, really, didn't diminish the value of his obedience much. Erik didn't even like to listen to himself).

He gave Erik one more swat and said, "All right, your spanking is done. You can get up now."

Erik pushed himself to his knees, and Charles sank back against the stack of pillows. Erik's cock was hard, and Charles started debating whether he should do something about that or if he should make Erik do without.

Before he could decide, Erik leaned over and planted a soft, damp kiss on his lips.

It was a shame that Erik could only be this sweet after having the stubbornness spanked out of him.

Then again, there was some gentleness and hesitation in the way that Erik touched him that Charles didn't care for. It was obvious that their re-acquired intimacy made certain things more real for Erik. Though he may have tried to hide these thoughts, they still projected from his mind in technicolor. There was Erik's guilt over his own selfishness for missing the way sex used to be, when it was easier to be spontaneous and when Charles could fuck him the way Erik liked. There was his discomfort at witnessing the extra effort that went into Charles' routines now—things that used to be taken for granted, like taking a bath or positioning himself in bed.

For Charles, this presented a dilemma. He didn't know how long he could stand sleeping next to Erik's guilt. But it wasn't his problem to deal with in the first place. Why should he reassure Erik, or give him permission to withdraw again? Why should he acknowledge things Erik wouldn't say aloud? So he said nothing.

Letting Erik sleep in his bed was impractical to begin with, because Erik was a light sleeper who preferred to fall asleep at least two hours earlier than Charles. Sometimes Charles resented no longer having his nights to himself. He devoted so much time to Erik already. Far more than Erik deserved or appreciated. The possibility that Erik spent his unsupervised nights plotting and scheming had been an acceptable risk in exchange for some peace and quiet.

But by choosing to sleep with him, Erik was sacrificing what little privacy he had. It was the least Charles could do to give him something in return.

Because Charles would still be reading after Erik dozed off, it didn't take long to discover that Erik moved metal in his sleep. It was only little things so far—the curtain rings would slide on the rod or a lamp would rattle. But it made Charles nervous, especially when he realized Erik wasn't usually having nightmares when this happened. Nightmares would have been easy to understand. Erik had surprisingly few of them.

Charles was both intrigued and perturbed by the incongruence. There was something exciting, _arousing_ , about sensing Erik's vulnerability when he was so determined to remain stoic. Physically, there might be small signs. White-knuckled fists clutching at the sheets. Ragged breathing. But Erik was so good at keeping himself contained.

But Charles didn't think he could ignore it if Erik seemed _unhappy_ , no matter how much Erik insisted that he wasn't. It made Charles feel unwanted, at best. At worst, it made him question himself. Perhaps he was losing his taste for throwing Erik off-balance. Or perhaps the balance between punishing Erik and letting Erik punish himself was simply more delicate than Charles wanted to accept.

Late that night, Charles woke up to the sound of his chair hitting the wall. He opened his eyes to see that it had rolled—no, had been pushed—across the room.

Erik, the obvious culprit, was asleep beside him. Charles weighed his options, including how willing he was to wait until morning.

After a few minutes of deliberation, Charles said, "Erik? Can you wake up?"

He knew better than to touch Erik. It was liable to startle him. He was about to say Erik's name again when he stirred and opened his eyes.

"What is it?"

"You moved my chair across the room. It'd be nice if you moved it back."

Erik tensed. "I didn't move your chair. I was asleep."

There was confusion and a little fear in his eyes, though Charles couldn’t tell if he was afraid of his own loss of control or the thought that Charles might be angry.

"I know you were," Charles said gently. "I know you didn't do it on purpose. I'm not angry—I'd just like you to move it back for me."

Erik blinked sleepily and waved his hand. The chair moved back to its place beside the bed. Erik lay back and placed an arm over his eyes.

"Do I do this often?" he asked.

"No, no. Only occasionally."

There was no need to concern him, or make him feel any less in control than he already was.

 

* * *

 

Hank went to the grocery store on Fridays, and Charles intercepted him while he was preparing to go.

"Erik's birthday is next week," Charles said. "We should make him a cake or something. Perhaps lemon meringue pie. He used to like lemon."

Hank was sitting at the kitchen table, writing out a shopping list. "Seriously?" he said without looking up, "You want to celebrate his birthday?"

"Why not? You said yourself that he gets depressed sometimes. I thought if we get him a cake, at least…."

Hank sighed. "Lemon meringue? That sounds like a lot of work for something he'll refuse to eat out of spite. You realize the harder you work to make Erik happy, the more he resents it, right?"

Charles didn't need Hank to tell him that. He could even admit that it would be kinder, perhaps, to stop poking Erik and let him be.

"Also," Hank said, "When you say 'we' should make him something, you really mean 'me,' right?"

"I suppose we could buy a pie," Charles said. "Then if he doesn't want it, it won't be your hard work wasted."

"Fine. I'll have to get it next week, though, so it'll be fresh. When's his birthday, exactly?"

"Next Thursday."

"Is it his real birthday?"

"As far as I know. I'm not sure it really matters." Charles braced himself for the next thing he had to say. If Hank was skeptical about buying a pie, he was not going to like Charles' next idea. "There's something else I've been thinking about, as well…."

 

* * *

 

Erik was growing tired of Charles' overcompensation. He thought he preferred Charles' anger to his attempts at pacifying him.

"I don't celebrate my birthday," he said. "I don't want a cake, and I don't want a present." He turned his attention back to the morning news to signal the end to the discussion."

"Yes, well, I think you'll like _this_ present. I'm going to take you into town for lunch."

Erik wanted to keep his eyes trained on the television and deny Charles whatever reaction he was hoping for. But it was pointless to try that with a mind-reader. So he looked up and met Charles' hopeful and inquiring gaze.

Erik had waited almost a year for this, but now that the opportunity came, it didn't have the effect he'd expected. Charles wouldn't let him escape. Whatever outing Charles had planned would end with him right back here, and he didn't know if he couldn't handle that.

Charles reached out and touched his arm. "I'm sorry for how things have been. But you must know I never intended to keep you locked up forever. Honestly, I've been waiting for a good opportunity for an outing. I have a bit of cabin fever, myself."

If Charles felt trapped as well, then that was his own fault. Erik wasn't stupid—he could tell Charles didn't like leaving him alone. It was a small consolation to think that Charles had made himself a prisoner, as well.

Erik got up and walked over to the window to put some space between the two of them.

Behind him, he heard Charles sigh.

"Very well. If you don't want to go, I won't force you."

Erik took a deep breath. The indignation passed, and he realized that he was reacting impulsively. Charles was offering to take him out. He would be a fool not to take the opportunity.

"I never said that. I'll go."

"Wonderful. Why don't you get ready, and I'll have Hank pull the car around?"

It wasn't lost on him that Charles had waited until the last moment to tell him about this. No time to plan anything.

It wasn't until Erik was sitting in the back seat of Hank's car that the whole thing felt real. He half expected the plan to fall through somehow. But perhaps that was unfair. Charles was many things, but not intentionally cruel.

As they neared the gate, Erik's heart started to race. Since Charles had brought him here, he'd been blocked somehow from nearing the edge of the grounds. There had been times when he wondered if whatever Charles did to his mind wasn't permanent.

Charles was sitting up front with Hank, but he reached back and touched Erik's knee.

At the gate, Hank stopped the car and got out open it. The absurd thought of getting out of the car and making a run for it occurred to Erik, but he didn't favor his chances. Charles kept his hand on Erik's knee.

Hank returned to the car. As they drove through the gateway and pulled out onto the road, Erik let out a deep breath.

So it was possible, then. He _could_ leave, at least if Charles permitted it.

For a minute, they continued on in silence. Charles patted his knee and twisted around to face the road. Hank gripped the steering wheel so hard that Erik thought he was going to turn into Beast and crash the car into a tree.

Then Charles spoke: "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the goal today is to keep a low profile." He paused and added, "If you leave our sight or call attention to yourself, it will be a long time before I take you out again."

"I'm not a child," Erik snapped. "You don't need to remind me."

For a second, he wondered if Charles would use that outburst as an excuse to cancel the outing. But when Charles responded, he didn't sound angry. A bit mollified, perhaps.

"Of course not."

Erik tried not to think about escaping, lest Charles overhear his thoughts and become alarmed. He wasn't going to try to run. He didn't trust he could get away without creating a scene, and despite what Charles thought of his self-control, he recognized the many ways in which that could go wrong. And no matter what Charles had done to him, Erik didn't want to jeopardize the future of the school by creating front page news in Westchester, New York.

But also, selfishly, Erik realized that he didn't want to ruin this afternoon. He didn't want Charles to punish him, or to wake up in his bed and not be able to remember this day at all.

Erik was not consulted on where to go for lunch. Hank seemed to already know where they were going, and pulled into the parking lot of a small diner.

It wasn't much to look at, but it reminded Erik of the sorts of places he and Charles stopped sometimes while they were on the road together all those years ago. And that had been the happiest time in Erik's life that he could remember. It had been a false happiness, of course. A dream that he eventually had to wake up from. He doubted Charles had meant to evoke those memories intentionally, but he almost wished that he had.

Erik helped Hank get Charles' chair out of the back of the car, and then stood with his hands in his pockets while Hank helped Charles out of the front passenger seat.

It was lunchtime, and there were perhaps a dozen other people seated inside. They got a table near the back, where there was room for Charles' chair.

As far as birthday lunches went, it was as underwhelming as Erik had expected. The food was average, and barely better than Hank's excuse for cooking. But to Erik's surprise, Charles and Hank spent more time casting cautious glances at the door and at other diners than at him. Charles looked like he was trying to be subtle about it, but Hank kept looking at the door like he thought the police might show up.

Erik had known from the start that this afternoon was meant as a test. He couldn't imagine any reason for a supervised outing except for Charles to prove how strong his control over him was. But now it occurred to him the actual test was to see if he could go out in public without being recognized. And that meant Charles truly didn't want to keep him locked up forever.

That was a better present than mediocre diner food.

After lunch, Hank drove them around for a bit, so that, as Charles explained, Erik could "see how things had changed."

That meant nothing to Erik. He hadn't been interested in sightseeing in 1962. Back then, he'd only left the mansion when the immaturity of the younger members of the team started to get to him. He would run to the grocery store, or sometimes the hardware store. There was no shortage of repairs that needed to be done in those days, thanks to the occasional training mishap.

But it was nice to feel the wind on his face through the open window as they drove down the winding roads.

By the time he realized they were headed back in the direction of the mansion, he was glad to be going home. He was becoming uneasy. The world felt too large.

Leaving the mansion was less of a relief than he'd expected.

 

* * *

 

Erik was subdued when they returned home. Charles watched as he picked at a slice of his lemon meringue pie in the living room before he gave up on it and set the plate on the coffee table. He sat back and watched the news, but Charles could tell his mind was wandering.

"Do you not like it?" Charles asked.

"I'm just tired. That's all."

"I tried to give you a nice day. If I failed—"

"You didn't," Erik said in a clipped tone. "It was nice. I would like us to go out again."

Charles took a deep breath. He'd been bracing for this ever since he realized it could be an issue. "I'm afraid I'm not certain when we'll have another outing."

Charles studied Erik's reaction closely. Erik's mind was conflicted. There was no anger or fear—just sadness mixed with a strange flavor of relief. Part of him was glad to be back home, and disgusted with himself because of it. And in that regard, it was hard to tell where Erik's free will ended and Charles' conditioning began. Perhaps it was difficult for Erik to tell, too.

In any case, it didn't bring Charles any satisfaction. It was a necessity. Nothing more.

Erik looked up wearily, but he didn't look the least bit surprised. "I did everything you wanted."

"Of course you did. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just very soon, still. We still have to be careful. You're supposed to be dead, after all. But I hope that today made things clearer for you. You're here so that I can keep you safe."

"And keep the world safe from me. Don't try to lie to me, Charles."

"Are those two things so different?"

Perhaps it'd been a mistake to take Erik out so soon. Charles had meant it as a show of good faith—a demonstration that the current situation wasn't permanent. But promises were never enough for Erik, and now he worried he'd only succeeded in reminding Erik that he wasn't free.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's my fault. Maybe I chose the wrong day."

Erik's brow furrowed. "You think I would have been happier staying in? Why would you possibly think that? It's been nearly a year."

Charles pursed his lips. He was cocking everything up, it seemed. "If you enjoyed it, then I'm glad. You aren't very good at showing it."

"I'm not sure what you expect from me, given the circumstances."

Charles didn't know what to say. He understood, of course. Erik would have been happier if he could come and go as he pleased. But Charles couldn't travel as he used to, and Hank had spent years on the grounds until he perfected his serum. They had managed.

He didn't see why Erik couldn't manage, as well.


	10. New Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Years dampens Erik's mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short update because the scene I'm working on now felt like it'd go better with the next part, but I'm planning a longer update later this week!

On the afternoon of December 31, Erik observed as Hank returned from the grocery store and unpacked three bottles of champagne and an assortment of cheeses.

"Are we having a party?"

"Charles wants to celebrate New Year's Eve."

"I see. I'll pass. I'm sure you'll have more fun without me."

The impending New Year already had him in a foul mood. He'd been at the mansion since February—almost a year. He hadn't thought it would be that long. He'd thought Charles would see sense by now.

Hank loaded the champagne into the refrigerator. "Charles really wants to have a party. He'll be disappointed if you're not there. He used to enjoy parties, you know. He used to enjoy being around people."

"I remember."

"I'm glad he thinks the new year is worth celebrating. It's about time he felt optimistic again. I'm not going to let you disappoint him by sulking upstairs."

Despite his determined words, Hank avoided eye contact and seemed as unenthusiastic as Erik was. Erik wondered if Hank wouldn't prefer it if he _did_ make himself scarce. Things were cordial enough between them these days, but Hank was still good at coming up with excuses to leave any room that Erik was in. Erik didn't care in the least, but it seemed to him that both Charles and Hank would enjoy themselves more tonight if he was able to retreat to his bedroom instead.

"And you always try to give Charles what he wants, don't you?" Erik said. "Even when you know it's wrong."

That got Hank's attention. He turned around and said, "At least I've been there for him."

Erik couldn't argue with that.

At dinner that evening, Charles extended his own invitation to Erik. Erik, not swayed by Hank's warnings, was ambivalent.

"You know I prefer to turn in early. I'll join you, but I can't promise to stay until midnight."

"It's not that late," Charles chided. "I think you can manage."

After dinner, Erik was tasked with cutting up the cheese into cubes. It seemed to him that Hank should take responsibility for the food he'd purchased, but Erik supposed that this was the consequence of his vocal lack of enthusiasm.

It was already pitch dark outside, and it'd started to snow at some point. The snowflakes pelted the kitchen windows, and even from a few feet away, Erik could feel the cold seeping through the glass.

When he took the cheese platter into the living room, he found Hank lighting a fire in the fireplace and Charles bent over in his chair, unboxing a Monopoly set on the coffee table. He looked up at Erik and beamed.

"Ah, just in time! I was about to ask Hank to find you. We've decided to play Monopoly."

Erik set the platter on the other end of the coffee table. "So I see. I think I'll sit this one out."

"No, I think you'll join us. Now come on, have a seat. I can't remember the last time I played. And it'll be good for the three of us to—" He frowned. "What happened to the pieces? Why have they all been replaced with buttons and rocks?"

"Because," Hank said, without looking up, "back in 1962, _someone_ thought we were having too much fun and used his power to take away the pieces."

Charles frowned. "That's a shame. I wanted to be the car." He looked at Erik. "I don't suppose you remember what you did with them?" He sounded disappointed but unsurprised.

"In 1962? Not likely."

The way Hank recounted it wasn't exactly accurate, but Erik wasn't in the mood to defend himself. Besides, the longer he stayed here, the more he realized that 1962 was a lifetime ago. His memory wasn't as sharp as he'd thought, and his intentions no longer had the needle-sharp clarity they'd once had.

Charles' disappointment was fleeting. And once the game got going, it wasn't so terrible. It was a distraction, whether Erik wanted one or not.

Despite his earlier threat to go up to bed early, when midnight rolled around, Erik was still at Charles' sorry excuse for a party. Charles and Hank sat by the television, watching Dick Clark.

Erik stayed by the window, rejecting the warmth of the fire and the forced camaraderie. He barely noticed the clock chiming in the hall, or the pop of the cork, until Charles called him over for a toast and Hank offered him a glass of champagne.

"To new beginnings," Charles said with a smile. "And brighter futures."

Erik dutifully clinked his glass with theirs and took a sip.

Charles continued. "I have a good feeling. ‘73 wasn't the worst year to build on." He could have been talking about the school, but he looked knowingly at Erik.

And Erik knew it was true: being captive here had not been the worst year in his life. For whatever that was worth. His hand tightened around the champagne flute, but instead of smashing it, he downed the rest of the champagne and set the empty glass on the coffee table.

"I think I'll be going upstairs, now."

 

* * *

 

Charles had a good feeling about 1974, but the weather made for an unfavorable start. It was a rough winter, and it only got worse in January. One night, it started snowing hard and in the morning, the grounds were covered with four feet of heavy, compact snow.

Charles spent much of the afternoon in the comfort of his study, trying to stay warm under an afghan while he read and watched Hank and Erik from the window. They were working together to clear the snow off the front steps and as much of the driveway as they could. Hank had even skipped his serum and allowed himself to transform. He was stronger in his mutant form, and while he wouldn't admit it, he was warmer with the fur. Erik was wearing one of Hank's old winter coats and a pair of leather gloves. The coat was boxy and concealing, but Charles could easily imagine the definition of his muscles. Erik's cheeks were pink, and even from here, Charles could see the little clouds that formed in front of face each time he exhaled.

Charles almost wished he could go outside and help. Almost. He'd never cared one bit for physical work. He didn't even see why Hank and Erik bothered, really. There was no way they could clear the entire driveway before dark, and the roads were bound to be horrible. They had enough food on hand for a week or two, at least.

But sometimes Charles' limitations frustrated him. It would have been nice to have the option, was all.

Hank came in after a few hours of work. Even in his stronger form, he was still breathing heavily from exertion.

"Where's Erik?" Charles asked.

"Still shoveling. I told him there's no point in doing any more today, but he didn't want to stop yet."

Charles supposed he should count his blessings that Erik was funneling his stubbornness into things like this. But when Erik was still outside as the sun started to go down, he started to become concerned.

He made his way out onto the front porch. The porch was covered enough that it had remained relatively dry. There was no hope of venturing any further in his chair, but fortunately, Erik wasn't far.

"You should come inside," he called out. "The temperature is dropping."

"Exactly," Erik yelled back. "This will all turn to ice overnight. It'll be even harder to move in the morning."

"I hardly see why it matters. You must realize there's no chance of shoveling all this on your own. Look at how little you and Hank were able to manage together."

Erik ignored him. Charles had seen this sort of determination before.

"Is something the matter? Are you angry about something?"

Erik stopped shoveling, but didn't turn around. "What makes you think that?"

"You're being very masochistic. The shovel is metal—you could be doing this from inside, where it's warm."

Erik responded with a shrug and resumed his work. "Maybe I like the fresh air and exercise."

Charles hugged his own chest and rubbed his arms. It was freezing, especially without a jacket. "Well, it's getting dark, and I don't want you getting frostbite. Will you come inside? Hank is making dinner."

He was tempted to use his power. It would be simpler. But he was trying not to, these days. Erik had been cooperative. He deserved a bit of respect in return.

Charles wasn't forced to decide. A moment later, Erik stopped, turned around, and started toward the mansion. He set his shovel on the porch beside Hank's and followed Charles inside.

After dinner, they made tea and retreated to the living room. Erik started a fire.

"Don't worry too much about the driveway," Charles said. "I don't think Hank will be venturing out until the snow melts more, anyway."

"It's not that. I was hoping to have enough shoveled so that I could go for a run."

Charles was about to ask why he would want to go running in such weather in the first place, but then he realized. It should have been obvious.

In a gentle tone, he said, "I know you hate being cooped up. I _am_ sorry that the snow is keeping you from your routine. And I'm not surprised that you seem conflicted lately. I expected it, with the anniversary coming up. You never were good at letting yourself be happy."

Erik gave the logs one more poke and put the fire poker back in its holder. He looked down at the flames and smiled coldly. "Is that what we're calling it now? An anniversary?"

"I'm not romanticizing it. You know exactly what I mean. You'll have been here a year—what do you call that, if not an anniversary?"


	11. Hank's Indescretions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is getting pretty close to the end. I'm still working on some of the final scenes, but I'm estimating there are around 10k words left, and probably a few chapters. Thank you for hanging in there and following this!

"It won't be the end of the world if I don't go. I don't know if it's a good idea to leave you here all by yourself."

Hank set the bag from the pharmacy on the nightstand. He didn't want to patronize Charles, but the sight of him cocooned in bed wasn't reassuring.

If he were only going a couple hours away, that'd be one thing. But Chicago? It'd be hard to rush home if Charles needed him. And it was only a conference. Charles thought it was important for them to pay attention to what researchers were saying about mutants, but Hank really doubted that the world depended on him sitting through a weekend of genetics presentations while Charles was sick in bed.

Charles sat up. He looked both concerned and frustrated. "You promised. You know how disappointed I am to have to miss this. And I won't be alone. Erik will take excellent care of me."

"Like I was saying...."

It wasn't a huge surprise that Charles was staying home. If they both attended, it would mean leaving Erik behind on his own. Hank didn't mind that. In fact, he kept hoping that one morning he'd wake up and Erik would just be...gone. He wouldn't be heartbroken if Erik escaped. But Charles would be, so Hank had been half expecting him to find some reason to stay home.

He hadn't expected Charles to get the flu, though. Hank blamed himself—he hadn't been sick, but he was the only one who'd left the mansion in the past week. He must have brought back germs from his last grocery run.

"You don't need to worry about me," Charles said. "I'll be fine. And I trust Erik with my life. Now go, before you miss your flight."

Charles was surrounded by evidence of Erik's dedication. Penned in by it, even. At the foot of the bed, a chessboard had been set up on a lap tray. Books lay to both his left and right. The television had been turned on. Hank started to think that Erik's idea of nursing Charles back to health was only going to overstimulate him. But then he felt like a hypocrite, because the only reason _he_ wasn't the one taking care of Charles was because he was too busy preparing for his trip. A trip Charles was sending him on, but still....

Hank reluctantly said his farewells and went downstairs. His luggage was already lined up by the front door. He reached for his car keys, only to have them fly out of his reach.

He spun around. Erik was standing in the doorway to the living room. He caught Hank's keys in his hand.

"What is it?" Hank asked. "I'm running late."

Perhaps he was paranoid, but it seemed that Erik had learned that the best time to antagonize him was when he was running late for something and didn't have the luxury of losing his temper. He didn't have time to take his serum and change out of ruined clothes.

"You'll bring me what I asked for?"

Hank sighed. "I'll see what I can do. Can I have my keys now?"

"And Charles—he _is_ all right? It's just the flu?"

"He'll be fine." Hank wavered for a moment. "His injury doesn't affect his breathing much, but he has trouble coughing sometimes. He's supposed to be mindful of pneumonia. Just...keep an eye on him. I've put the doctor's number on the refrigerator just in case. Try to encourage him to eat, and drink plenty of fluids." He looked at his watch. "I'm running late."

Erik gestured, and the keys flew over to Hank.

"I'll call when I get to the hotel," Hank said, "and every evening after dinner. If you don't let me talk to him—"

Erik crossed his arms. "I could take offense at what you're implying, but instead, I'll just ask you this: if I intended to hurt Charles, do you really think your diligence would be enough to stop me?"

He was right. If Erik ever intended to incapacitate Charles, Hank's presence wasn't exactly stopping him. Hank couldn't fool himself to the contrary. So it was silly, maybe, to worry about leaving them alone for three days.

If anything, Hank almost felt sorry for Erik. Charles wasn't an easy patient. He was too proud to accept help without frustration, but he also had a natural fondness for being doted on.

"Just answer the phone, okay?"

Hank grabbed his bags and headed out the door.

 

* * *

 

When he landed in Chicago, the change of scenery was enough to distract him from his misgivings. He didn't realize how...cooped-up he'd been until he was in a cab on his way to the hotel. He'd spent most of the last decade at the mansion. For a while after Cuba, he couldn't leave the grounds because of his condition. And then when Charles was at his worst, Hank didn't want to leave him. Some mornings, he'd stood outside Charles' bedroom, listening for the sound of him breathing or stirring. Anything to verify that he hadn't died of alcohol poisoning in his sleep.

He cared about Charles, but he couldn't deny that it was nice to be on his own for a change. He felt a stab of guilt for thinking that way when Charles was home sick but, well, he couldn't help his feelings.

He felt no shame in enjoying a break from Erik.

Once he was in his room, he called the mansion to check in. He spoke to Charles and gave him the number for the hotel. Then, he freshened up to go downstairs for the first conference session.

Hank could think of worse ways to spend a weekend than listening to presentations on genetics research. This sort of thing had always been his ideal summer vacation. There was still very little scholarship on mutant genetics—Charles had not been dethroned in that category yet, even though he hadn't published in years. But there was definitely buzz about the topic now. As Hank made his way through the hotel ballroom, he caught snippets of a few conversations about Charles' dissertation.

Most of the conference attendees were academics from universities across the nation. The world, even. It was a little strange being in their midst. It'd been a long time since Hank felt like he was doing much with his education. The achievements he'd made over the years were almost entirely secretive.

But one thing his background did give him was a keen intuition for trouble. So he noticed the middle-aged man who seemed to be following him.

He didn't make much of it at first. After all, he was bound to run into the same people over the course of the conference. But this man was most definitely watching him at breakfast the following morning, and seemed to sit within a couple rows of him at every talk. Hank tried not to let on that he could tell, though he'd gotten enough of a look at the man to see that his nametag identified him as James Valentine. He must have been in his mid-50s. He had salt-and-pepper hair and wore small, wire-frame glasses. Hank had never seen him before in his life.

Hank didn't have enough proof to confront him, but he remained alert. But then, on Sunday, he was going up to his room when James Valentine followed him into the elevator.

Hank's fingers twitched. His nerves tingled in the way they did when he was about to transform, but he took deep breaths to control himself. He debated the wisdom of getting into a confrontation in the elevator, and then decided he preferred a confrontation to not knowing.

"I can tell you're following me."

"Maybe I wanted you to notice."

The man turned to look at him, and his eyes flashed gold.

" _Raven?_ " Hank said.

He almost didn't believe it, but then her appearance shifted before his eyes, and she took on her familiar human form.

"Wh—" Hank reached for her and then stopped. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, probably. Research."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It wasn't easy to get you alone. I guess I was waiting for the right moment."

He wondered if that was true, or if she had debated revealing herself at all. It didn't matter.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. They'd reached Hank's floor.

"Can we talk?" he asked. "My room's just down here."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Once they were behind closed doors, she morphed into her natural blue form. She looked out the window while he poured them each a glass of Coke.

"So," he said, "you're here to what? Check out any research being done on mutants?"

"The whole world knows about us now. We have to be ready for the next Trask."

"Yeah, but...Charles thinks the visibility is a good thing, in the long run. If we have legitimacy, we can take a stand. We can pull people like Trask into the light."

She looked over her shoulder. "He isn't here, is he?"

"Charles? No. He, uh, couldn't make it. He's good, though. Doing well."

He held out a glass, and she took it and sat on the bed. It felt too awkward to join her, so he remained standing.

They didn't talk about DC, or the events that led up to it. Hank had expected unfinished business, but perhaps there was nothing more to say. Instead, Hank told her about the preparations for the school, and she told him about how she'd been travelling the country, helping mutants wherever she could. After a few minutes, he realized that she'd given him very few particulars. He had the vaguest idea of what she'd been doing, and he, in turn, had given her only the most sanitized details of what was happening at the mansion.

Then her expression became grim. "I read about Erik. I couldn't believe it."

She blinked, and it almost looked like there were tears in her eyes. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to sink into the bed. Hank swallowed around a lump in his throat. What could he say? How had he not realized this was coming?

Raven continued. "It's not like I blame myself. It's just...all those years he was in prison, I thought I'd moved on. I could justify why I didn't do more to get him out. I told myself that for all I knew, he was already dead. So I thought I could handle it. But when I saw that headline, it hit me. His body is probably shoved in a freezer in some CIA lab right now. And no matter what he did, he deserved better than that."

Hank swallowed. His stomach felt like it was in a vice. "Raven, there's something I should tell you. Erik isn't dead."

"What?" The disgust had left her voice, and her tone was inscrutable.

He couldn't look at her. He studied a crack in the ceiling instead. "We faked his death. Me and Charles. He's fine. But it's a secret, all right? No one can know. I mean it."

"Erik...agreed to that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." He looked at his feet.

"And no one was going to tell me?"

"You didn't exactly make yourself easy to find." Even to his own ears, his words sounded bitter.

"You could have tried!"

"I'm telling you now! Look, it's not like you made yourself easy to find after DC. And, you know, Charles wanted to respect your privacy."

She didn't look convinced. And if reassuring Raven wasn't hard enough, how Charles would react? Hank was already playing that conversation out in his head, plotting out his defense. ("How could know she'd turn up at a genetics convention? She was the one who brought up Erik. If you were there, you would have told her, too.")

Raven narrowed her eyes. "Oh yeah, that sounds like Charles. What has he done, exactly?"

"He took him in. Saved him from being captured."

"I want to see him. I need to talk to him."

"I...I don't think that's a great idea right now. He needs time. But if you—if you give me your contact information, we can call you."

"I don't exactly have a steady address right now."

"Where have you been staying? Are you managing okay? I don't want to talk about Erik. I want to hear about what you've been doing."

He didn't expect the deflection to work. Raven had never been one to back down when she had her mind set on something. But this time, she let him change the subject.

Later, he couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't let it go.

 

* * *

 

The whole way home, Hank agonized about whether to tell Charles. It seemed like the right thing to do. Charles didn't talk about her often (he never had, ever since she left with Erik all those years ago), but Hank didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that Charles missed her. That he worried about her.

But then he'd have to admit to Charles that he'd told her the truth (more or less) about Erik. He didn't know how Charles would take that.

When he got home, however, it was surprisingly easy to let the issue slide. First Erik took him aside and demanded to know if Hank had procured what he'd asked for.

Hank sighed and retrieved a red and gold tin from his luggage. "I hope you're happy. They weren't cheap."

Erik had apparently spent time in Chicago at some point, where he'd grown fond of a particular shop that sold coconut macaroons that were, according to him, unparalleled.

Charles was out of bed and working in his office. He was still surrounded by a pile of tissues, but the color had returned to his cheeks. Seeing him in better spirits only made Hank less inclined to tell him about Raven. Charles wanted to know all about the conference, and Hank had more than enough to share.

For a couple days after his return, Hank was on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop. He thought Raven might call, or that Charles would pick up a stray thought from his mind. But the more time that passed, the more Hank started to put his meeting with Raven behind him.

 

* * *

 

Hank's lab was filled with the scent of marijuana. Hank took a long drag on the joint and reluctantly passed it to Erik, who was leaning on the work bench.

Erik was watching as Hank tried to pour the contents of a test tube into a petri dish with hands that were not as coordinated as they had been a half hour ago.

"Are you certain you're in a condition to be doing this?" Erik asked with a smile.

"Are you questioning my ability to run experiments in my own lab?" He tried to keep a straight face, but only lasted a moment before his laughter escaped as an undignified snort. He set the test tube back in the rack. His experiments could wait until he sobered up a little.

If Erik had a purpose for being there, Hank had long since forgotten it. He seemed to recall Erik looking to borrow something, but if he didn't know better, he'd think Erik was simply bored. Why else would he have insisted on giving Hank's stash a try?

If Hank hadn't already been high, he never would have let him.

What would Charles think if he saw them like this? It didn't matter—Charles had been staying up late all week in his office, engrossed in his plans for the school. Erik still slept with him—they didn't even try to conceal it anymore—but sometimes Erik shut himself in Charles' bedroom hours before Charles abandoned his work for the night. Hank took a peek in Erik's bedroom the other day and could find no evidence that it'd been slept in recently.

Erik looked over his shoulder at the record player in the corner. The David Bowie album Hank had put on had ended, and was spinning silently on the turntable. Erik flicked his hand and the needle moved back to the beginning.

Erik took a couple steps and lowered himself to the floor, sitting with his back against the wall. He still held the joint between his fingers, so Hank sat down beside him in order to better take it back.

"Have you ever done this before?" Hank asked.

"I haven't had the pleasure."

Hank was a little surprised by his honesty. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he was inspired to press on.

"Can I ask you something? Why are you still here?"

Erik narrowed his eyes. He seemed confused by the question. "Are you kicking me out?"

"No, no, I don't mean here. I mean... _here_. The mansion. The grounds."

"Isn't it obvious? Charles won't allow it."

"But have you tried?"

"What do you think?" Erik spat out. He dropped the spent joint in an ashtray; it was burnt down to a nub.

Hank didn't know. He understood, at least in an abstract sense, what Charles was capable of. But he'd also seen what Erik was capable of—not just his power, but his stubbornness.

The other day, he'd enlisted Erik's help in cutting up a tree limb that had fallen near the pond. When they were almost there, Hank stopped and claimed he had to go back for something. He sent Erik ahead while he walked back to the tool shed. He'd waited inside the cold, musty shed for several minutes before venturing back out.

He'd wanted to give Erik an opportunity.

"I think you and Charles seem to be getting along okay."

"Are you _jealous_? What, do you wish it was you with him? Is that what the two of you did for all those years, while you hid from the world?"

"Do you really think I'd tell you if we did?"

Erik was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "Fair enough. We can fight, if it'd help."

Hank did a double take and curled his lip. "What?" He remembered the last time they fought, and Erik's dislocated shoulder. It wasn't an encounter Hank cared to repeat.

"You heard me. Let's have it out." Erik grabbed Hank's hand and pressed it against his own throat. Grinning, he said, "Go on! I can take it."

Hank yanked his hand away. "What are you—I'm not going to choke you. What kind of person do you take me for?"

Erik responded by driving into him, knocking him onto his back on the hardwood floor. Hank huffed and easily flipped Erik over, pinning his wrists the floor and trapping him under his superior heft.

Erik smiled like he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. "There it is. You're exquisite in this form. It's infuriating, watching you inject yourself with those chemicals to hide what you are. When are you going to embrace your strength? I've seen you fight. I've felt your hands around my throat. I know what you're capable of."

They locked eyes. Erik pressed up against him, but didn't seem determined to push him off. They were close enough that Hank could feel the heat from Erik's body.

"This reminds me of a dream I had recently," Erik continued. "Where we fought and you forced yourself on me."

In an instant, Hank released him and retreated back to his spot against the wall. He crossed his arms. Slowly, Erik crawled back and sat beside him.

After a minute, Hank growled. "Stop staring at me."

The intensity in Erik's eyes was making his skin crawl. Perhaps this had been a mistake, after all. He wasn't in any state to handle Erik being...Erik.

Erik reached out like he was going to touch the fur on Hank's head. Hank flinched away.

"Look, you've had too much pot. You need to settle down, okay? I'd never...do what you're implying. This is why I take my serum. How would you like it if people treated you like some sort of monster?"

Erik's smile faded, and he slumped back against the wall. He looked tired. "They have. And you know I could fight you off if I needed to."

Hank pushed himself to his feet and staggered away.


	12. A ghost of the past, and dreams of the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd hoped to have the ending posted before the end of the year, but I'm still working on a few of the ending scenes. In the meantime, enjoy an extra-long update!

Erik and Charles were playing chess one evening with the doorbell rang. That in itself was unusual; Erik realized he'd never heard the doorbell before. But Charles' reaction was even more surprised. He looked up, his lips parted. From the look in his eyes, it was clear that he'd sensed someone. Whoever was at the door, it wasn't a missionary or traveling salesman who'd been brave enough to venture past the front gate on a dark February evening. Charles set down his bishop without paying attention to where he put it.

"Is that...?" his question trailed off as he wheeled himself toward the hall.

Hank must have been closer, because Erik heard his voice in the hall as he answered the door.

"This is a surprise. Why are you—"

"I want to see my brother."

Erik would have recognized her voice anywhere.

When he heard Raven's voice, Charles rushed into the hall. Erik stayed back, but he got up from his chair and made his way over to the doorway. He stood out of sight and listened. Hank was still arguing futilely when Charles' voice joined the mix.

"Raven?" Charles said. "Is that really you? My God, it is! Please, come inside. It's so lovely to see you again."

"I know Erik's here. I know he's alive. I want to see him."

"What? Let's—let's go into my study."

Erik listened as Charles ushered her down the hall—away from the living room, away from him. He waited until they shut themselves in Charles' office to come out of hiding. He stepped out into the hall, walked over to the door to the study, and listened to the elevated voices within.

"If you'd just give me a moment to explain—" Charles said.

"How hard is it to explain? Either he's alive or he's not. Is he here or isn't he? Do you expect me to believe you don't know who's living in your own house?"

"What exactly did Hank tell you?"

Hank was lurking several feet away, his arms crossed and his eyes downcast. He wasn't bold enough to get as close to the door as Erik, but it was clear he was listening, too. Erik looked at him.

"Is this your doing? Bringing her here?"

Hank didn't say anything. Erik reached for the doorknob, and that was when Hank stepped forward.

"Don't—"

Erik jiggled the knob. The door was locked, but a wave of his hand took care of that. He threw the door open and stepped into the study.

They both turned their heads toward him, and Charles looked stricken. He started to lift his fingers to his temple but stopped. Erik could imagine what he was thinking: would his sister notice if he used his power to subdue him right now?

Erik shifted his attention to Raven. "You obviously came here to find me. Do you have something to say?"

She hesitated. She clearly hadn't expected it to go like this. Finally, she pointed at Charles. "Is he keeping you here? Did he fake your death?"

She had always been one for bluntness. Erik had always admired that.

He took a second to consider. He had no lack of respect for her, even when she was masquerading in her human form as she was now. But if she wanted to rescue him, she could have done it eleven years ago when he was lying in a hole in the ground. His pride won out.

"Yes, he faked my death. No one is _keeping_ me here. Are you satisfied?"

She scrutinized Erik, and then turned to Charles. "You could have told me," she said, wounded.

"I know. I'm sorry. But now that you're here, won't you stay? At least for tonight? It's getting late, and Erik is making dinner tonight. He's an excellent cook. Did you know that? I can ask Hank to make up your old room."

"It's fine. I remember where you keep the linens."

Once she left the room, Charles looked cowed for once. Erik was enjoying it immensely. He leaned against Charles' desk and crossed his arms.

"Strange, isn't it, that your own sister came to the conclusion that you were holding me prisoner. What does that suggest, I wonder?"

Charles gave him a dark look. "I'm _happy_ Raven is here, Erik. Don't ruin it."

"Ruin it? You should be thankful I cleared up her misconceptions."

"You have my gratitude."

"Perhaps I can request a favor in return—"

Before he could try his luck, Hank came in. He looked like a guilty dog that knew it was in trouble.

"I'm so sorry I didn't say anything sooner. I ran into her in Chicago, and I was going to tell you, but I didn't think she'd get any ideas like this. I swear, I didn't tell her anything that would have made her think—"

"Hank, it's all right." Charles wheeled himself over to where Hank stood. "I'm not upset that you told her. I'm glad, honestly. I'm happy she's here. I would have preferred a warning...."

"I didn't think she'd actually show up."

"I know. But it's for the best that she did. She knows Erik is okay, now."

 

* * *

 

While Erik cooked dinner, his pride started to thaw, and he realized it would be foolish to let Raven leave without speaking to her.

He couldn't risk waiting for Charles to go to bed. He had a feeling that tonight, Charles would either keep a close eye on him or ensure that he slept soundly.

His chance came after dinner. Charles had gone to find a prized bottle of brandy he wanted to open, and Hank was clearing the dinner table. Erik found Raven in the living room, looking out the window.

Raven turned when he entered the room. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but Erik didn't have time to listen. They only had a minute, at most, before Charles returned.

"My helmet. Where is it?"

She blinked. "Why would I know?"

His heart sank. For a moment, he'd thought there was a chance. "You came here thinking I needed to be rescued, but you didn't bring my helmet?"

"So, what? Am I an idiot for thinking you needed help, or because I couldn't bring you what you wanted?"

"I never asked for your help."

"Then why don't you ask Charles where your helmet is? I'm sure he knows."

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his as she headed for the door.

 

* * *

 

Charles couldn't sleep. He was still awake, reading in his study, when he heard footsteps in the hall just after three in the morning. Even before reaching out with his gift, he had an uneasy feeling. He set down his book to go investigate.

He found Raven about to open the front door.

"Raven? You weren't leaving without saying goodbye?"

She paused. "I've never been one for goodbyes. You know that."

"Since I caught you, perhaps you can make an exception."

"Fair enough."

She joined him in his study and took a seat on the sofa. She sat on the edge, tense.

The brandy he'd opened earlier was sitting on his desk. He picked it up and motioned to her, and she shook her head. He poured himself a glass.

"I was hoping you'd stay a while. I meant it when I said it was a wonderful surprise to see you."

"I'm not interested in watching you and Erik pretend everything's fine."

"Pretend? I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't use your ability on him."

Charles shook his head with a dry chuckle. "Of course I used my ability. I did what I needed to in order to bring him here safely. You were the one who removed his helmet. Did you expect me to leave him there?"

"Don't deflect, Charles."

He rubbed his forehead. "I'm just trying to understand. You were upset because you thought he was dead, and I admit I was wrong to let you believe that. But now you see that he's alive and happy. He told you so himself. Do you really think I'd hurt him?"

The fire had gone out of Raven's eyes, and she looked sad. "If I hadn't listened to you, would you have done this to _me_?"

"God, no. Surely you know me better than that. And I still don't know why you're so quick to think I'd do it to Erik. Did he—did he say something to you?"

"He didn't have to. Anyway, I don't care about Erik. I don't owe him anything after what he tried to do to me in Paris."

Charles set down his glass and frowned. "I don't believe that."

"It doesn't matter. Either he doesn't want my help, or you've gotten into his head."

"You handed him over to me," Charles said softly. "You knew he had to be stopped. What did you expect me to do?"

It seemed very unfair for her to judge him now, when she'd shown so little concern for Erik's fate then. If not for what he'd done, Erik might be dead.

Raven stood up. "Don't make me complicit in this. I'm going now, Charles."

"Very well. That's your choice."

He didn't follow her, though after he heard the front door shut behind her, he wondered if he should have. Instead, he finished his brandy and poured himself another glass.

 

* * *

 

Erik wasn't entirely surprised by Raven's decision to steal away in the middle of the night. The mood in the mansion was gloomier in the days that followed; each of them had reason to be disappointed. But if Charles was wounded by his sister's accusations, or at losing her once again, he drowned his sorrows in his work.

The following week, he made an announcement at dinner.

"Erik, before I forget, a prospective student and her parents are visiting tomorrow. I'm afraid you'll need to stay in your bedroom until they leave."

Erik set down his fork and looked at Charles. "This is how it begins, is it? Next you'll be giving me a new room in the basement with a plastic door and a plastic lock."

"Don't be silly. I promised you nothing significant would change once the school opens, didn't I? In any case, if it reassures you, there's far too much metal in the basement for us to construct any sort of cell to hold you in, plastic door or not."

Across the table, Hank shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but I don't think excluding the fugitive terrorist from the official campus tour and then hoping everything works out when the semester starts is a viable strategy. What are we going to do? Try to pass him off as the groundskeeper?"

Erik scoffed. "If you think I'm going to—"

Charles raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I agree that we need a strategy, and I promise you both that I'm giving it serious thought. But I haven't exactly received much help."

"You know my suggestion," Hank said with a shrug. "I think Erik should leave."

Over time, Hank had developed a habit of skewing his words when he discussed Erik. "Leave" instead of "be released." "Fugitive" instead of "prisoner." Erik still wasn't sure whose benefit this was for.

"Then I suppose if Erik doesn't have any suggestions, we should drop the subject for now. I have some work to do before tomorrow."

Erik had long suspected that Charles didn't like to discuss things like this with both of them at once. Perhaps he was concerned they would agree on something.

Later, Erik cornered Charles in his office and said, "If I'm to hide away, I think I should get something in return. And don't think I've forgotten the favor you owe me for last week."

Charles sighed and looked up from the letter he was typing on an electric typewriter. "Very well. What did you have in mind?"

 

* * *

 

Erik drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn't remember the last time he'd driven a car, and the roads around the mansion were dark. He had to watch the road carefully, and take the curves slowly. Still, he was in a buoyant mood.

"Hank was certainly uneasy about you going off alone with me. I'm surprised he didn't try to impose a curfew."

"You really think Hank is jealous of us going out to dinner?" Charles asked, amused. "I think you underestimate how tired he gets of having us around all the time."

"Don't be obtuse—you know exactly what I mean. He obviously thinks I'm going to knock you unconscious and steal the car. No offense, but that's what I should do."

"None taken. But I know you well enough to trust you won't ruin a nice evening out. I think you'd rather go home tonight. Besides, you've agreed to help Hank with yard work tomorrow."

It was a Thursday night, so the restaurant wasn't as busy as it might have been on a weekend. Erik was glad. After so many years of solitude, the crowds and noises in public places were still an assault on his senses. But he enjoyed being able to reach out with his mind and sense the bits of metal people carried with them—coins, buttons, pens. It was something he'd taken for granted before his years in prison.

The restaurant was dimly lit, with small candles on the tables and faded red and white check tablecloths. Their table was in a quiet corner where they could hear the soft Italian music that played in the background.

"By the way," Erik asked while they ate, "how did things go with the prospective student today?"

"Well enough, I think. Her parents are hesitant to send her away to school, but I did my best to allay their concerns." Charles dabbed a bit of marinara sauce off his lip and continued. "I know you and Hank think I haven't considered all the complications, but I'd _like_ you to be involved in the school. I'd value your contribution, and perhaps it would give you a purpose."

Erik raised his eyebrows. "A purpose?"

"I'm not trying to be cruel, but think for a moment. I'm the only friend you have left. And before you try to blame me for that, or claim that everyone else is dead, I'd like to point out that you'd still have Raven on your side if you didn't try to kill her. And I'm sorry, but I don't see how you can possibly have a plan right now. Not after spending the last decade in prison. Teaching isn't the worst thing you could do."

Erik looked around them. "Is this a conversation we should be having in public?" Most of the other diners were out of earshot, and they hadn't seen their waitress in several minutes, but it was still prudent to be cautious.

"It's quite all right." Charles tapped his temple. "We can speak freely. All the same, perhaps this is a conversation for another time. You may need time to think."

Erik shrugged. "There's no need—I don't think we'd see eye to eye. You might not like what I'd teach them."

Charles cocked his head. "We're talking about children, Erik. As young as twelve, perhaps. You would teach them to fear the world? To fear their own families?"

"I would teach them the truth. Perhaps the human parents whose trust you want to gain wouldn't care for that."

"And you think that's what my students will want? Think of the young mutants who lost friends or brothers in Vietnam. What makes you think they'll _want_ another war?"

"Want?" Erik said coldly. "Our enemies don't care about what we want."

"I'm saying that it's not just the parents I'm considering. I'm creating a refuge. One you might be a part of, if you want."

Charles didn't say what he'd do if Erik decided he didn't want this. Nor did he say how he intended to make it work, considering Erik was meant to be dead. Twelve-year-olds weren’t known for their discretion.

They didn't discuss the matter any further at dinner. When he was finished eating, Erik set his napkin on the table.

"I'm going to run to the men's room," he said.

Before getting up, he tried to read Charles' expression. Would he refuse to let him go? Would he become suspicious? But if Charles was thinking anything of this sort, he didn't show it.

"Go ahead. If the waitress comes by, I'll order dessert for us."

Erik got up and made his way to the back of the restaurant as if it was perfectly natural. But it was odd to be out of Charles' sight in public after spending so long under his watchful gaze.

As he washed his hands, Erik looked up at the sole window. It was small, but he might be able to squeeze through it. And if not, the frame was metal. Perhaps he could use it to make a bigger opening. If he was quick about it, he could be gone by the time Charles got suspicious about how long he was taking.

Then again, how did he know Charles wasn't in his head already? He wasn't far enough away to be out of range. But his gut told him that Charles was trying to trust him, not test him. He felt the car keys in his pocket, digging into his thigh. Six months ago, Charles would never have let him hold onto them, let alone drive them to dinner in the first place. The warm pride he felt over that felt genuine, as did his ambivalence about causing disappointment.

And whether the feeling was his or something Charles had planted in his head, Charles was right about one thing: Erik preferred the thought of going home to spending the night on the run. Perhaps if he escaped, he would find that it was all an illusion Charles put in his head, and that he could go back to his old ways easily. But he couldn't bring himself to find out.

He dried his hands, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the bathroom. He returned to their table just as the waitress brought two cannoli.

Charles looked a little relieved, but didn't remark on how long he'd been gone.

"Just in time," he said with a smile.

On the drive home, Erik was silent. He was lost in his thoughts, ruminating on what Charles had said at dinner.

For a long time, he'd had the idea that as soon as he was free, he'd pick up where he left off. Keep fighting. His months in the mansion had given him plenty of time to see the reality: that he had no followers, no resources, and no plan.

The most maddening part was that Charles wasn't wrong. Erik could imagine a reality where he would be happy at the mansion. He could even see the truth in Hank's assessment of him: his years in solitary confinement had damaged him, and he needed time to recover. But how far could he bend himself to Charles' dream before he broke?

 

* * *

 

That night, Charles was in the mood to have his cock sucked. It was a rare privilege, and Erik knew he was being rewarded for his good behavior on their date. Erik couldn't tell how much pleasure Charles got from the stimulation, but his voice was thick with lust as he praised Erik.

"Such a treat to see you put your mouth to good use," he said as he stroked Erik's hair. His touch was gentle and praising, but, intentionally or not, it reminded Erik who was in charge.

Charles' praise went straight to Erik's cock. In the bedroom, at least, he and Charles could be in accord. And Erik was eager to please. Erik strained his eyes upward to see Charles' face. Charles was looking down on him with heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips.

In the past, Erik hadn't particularly enjoyed fellatio, but years spent deprived of touch had made him appreciative of the contact. Charles' cock was warm and thick in his mouth.

"If you like it so much," Charles said coyly, "we should have you do it more often."

Erik's face flushed at the realization that Charles was in his head.

His jaw was starting to ache by the time Charles gently pushed him away. As Erik sat up on his knees, Charles reached over and snapped the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms.

"I think it's time those came off. I want to play with the rest of you."

Erik was already shirtless. He quickly divested himself of the remainder of his clothes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Charles retrieved some lube it sat on the nightstand. Charles motioned him over.

Erik straddled Charles' lap, facing him. Charles reached around and felt for his hole with two slicked-up fingers. The lube was cold, and Erik clenched down when the first finger entered him. A soft pat on the hip reminded him to relax and give Charles access.

Charles murmured and stroked the side of Erik's head with his free hand. "I could come just from the lovely images that you conjure up in here."

"Get out of my head, Charles," Erik said with a groan. But there was no bite to it. He too distracted by Charles' fingers stretching him open.

"You'd deny me the pleasure? I think I'm entitled to it." With his free hand, he reached for Erik's cock. "Especially when I take such good care of you. A prostate as sensitive as yours shouldn't be neglected. And how do you repay me? By imagining what it'd be like to get fucked by Hank?" Charles' tone was more playful than reproachful.

Erik squirmed and made an indignant sound. Charles shushed him before he could protest.

"I’m not jealous. Not when I get to enjoy your fantasies."

Charles took his time savoring Erik's pent-up arousal. As he fucked him with his fingers, he used his other hand to tease Erik's cock with maddeningly slow strokes. Erik braced himself against Charles' shoulders and bent his head so that they could kiss. As he kissed Charles' neck, he could feel his ragged breathing.

"Do you like the thought of being held down and fucked hard?" Charles said in his ear. "Is that what you want?" He thrust his fingers inside him.

Erik didn't answer, but the hardness of his cock betrayed him. He couldn't tell if the obscene images that ran through his mind were his own invention or placed there by Charles to tease him.

"Hardly necessary when you're so eager to spread your legs for me," Charles continued.

Before he could stop himself, a surge of pleasure rippled through him and he came on Charles' chest. Charles murmured in surprise and let go of his cock, but didn't stop fingering him.

His orgasm left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, and he suspected that was why Charles continued to show so much interest in his asshole. He obediently stayed in position with his head against Charles' shoulder.

Afterward, they got cleaned up for bed. Erik was brushing his teeth in the master bedroom with the door open when Charles called out to him from the bed.

"I'm not sure why all your fantasies seem to involve you being overpowered. Does everything have to be a fight?"

Erik stepped out of the bathroom and switched off the light. He'd put on a pair of pajama bottoms. "Not everything. I don't like fighting with you."

"Is that why poor Hank gets to be the cruel brute in your imagination?"

Erik glared at him. "I'm not talking about that anymore. And if you tell him—"

"Of course not. Though I'm sure he suspects after what you got up to in his lab. Yes, I know about that."

He didn't ask if Hank had told him or if Charles had been spying on them with his gift. It hardly mattered. Erik climbed into bed and faced away from Charles.

At some point, the idle thoughts about how easy it would be for Hank to rip his arm off had morphed into daydreams about how Hank might throw him on a bed, press him into the mattress, and mount him like an animal in heat.

There wasn’t a chance in hell that Hank had the nerve to take such liberties, but just last week, Erik jerked off to the idea in the shower. He couldn’t decide if he should be disgusted with himself for it.

Thankfully, Charles dropped the subject. Erik heard him reach for the book he'd been reading and flip to the page he'd left off at.

Erik tried to go to sleep, but his mind drifted to their earlier conversation at dinner. There was a questioned he'd thought better of asking, but now it dominated his mind.

"Charles?" he asked without turning over.

"Hmm?"

"What do you _want_? How do you foresee this ending?"

Erik had tried to satisfy him. He was starting to wonder if Charles even knew what he wanted.

It was a long moment before Charles answered. "Ideally...it would be nice if one day we had enough influence that I could orchestrate a pardon for you."

Erik's heart sank. Charles couldn't possibly believe that would really happen. "And what if I told you I don't want the government's table scraps? That I'd rather be reviled than compromise my values?"

Another pause. "I suppose I'd be disappointed. But then, you always were stubborn. And too proud to admit you might be wrong."

Erik cleared his throat. "I thought of you, you know. All those years. I don't regret anything else I've done, but when I realized I might not see you again, I regretted that."

"Erik…."

"Why else would I accept everything you've done to me?"


	13. A dangerous game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has a proposition for Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is...very delayed. I've had a busy couple months. But I finally got enough of a break to finish chapter 13, and there are only a couple chapters (maybe three at the most) after this. Thank you for your patience! Enjoy some dubious Charles/Erik/Hank smut.

"You and Erik are keeping your distance these days. I'd thought you were becoming friends."

Hank was surprised that Charles noticed. He'd tried not to make it obvious.

"I'm not avoiding him. I've just been busy. And I wouldn't say we're friends."

That was true enough. He _had_ been busy. Today, he was helping Charles stuff envelopes with letters to the families of prospective students. He was a little surprised Charles wasn't making Erik help with this. Even in his current situation, it seemed Erik was too good to lick envelopes. He was off taking a walk somewhere.

Charles was taking a break from typing letters. Without the noise of the electric typewriter, they were able to talk.

"That's a shame," Charles said. "I was glad to see the two of you getting along. I don't suppose this has anything to do with what happened last month."

Hank froze, the dread settling down to the pit of his stomach. Had Charles read one of their minds, or had Erik confessed? Was there even anything to confess _to_?"

"Nothing _happened_. I gave him some pot and it messed with his mind. I don't know what he's told you, but that's all."

Charles laughed. "Oh, Hank. I'm not upset about it. I find it rather charming, actually."

Hank huffed. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't say that if you were there." He squirmed in his chair. "He didn’t mean it, obviously."

Charles cocked his head, as though this surprised him. "What makes you think so?"

This wasn't the reaction Hank had expected. It was a relief that Charles wasn’t jealous, but Charles' blasé attitude caught him off guard.

"What? Did he say something? Does he...think about me?"

"You would have to ask him that. My point is you have nothing to feel guilty about."

Hank reached for one of the letters in the stack on Charles' desk. He started to fold it, but his hands were unsteady. The edge of the letter sliced into his index finger, and he watched as the thin papercut started to bleed. He put his finger to his lips.

"I'd never hurt him," he said. "Not like that."

"Of course you wouldn't. He didn't mean it that way. Erik has always had a preference for roughness."

Charles rolled himself out from behind the desk, and closer to wear Hank sat. He took Hank's hand, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it to Hank's finger.

"I've missed spending time with you. I thought that if Erik's interest was mutual, it would be nice to have you join us. I'd enjoy watching."

Hank's heart quickened. The thought of sex with Erik unsettled him to the point where it was almost intriguing in how taboo it was. The thought of being back in Charles' orbit, however, was tantalizing. He'd missed their old closeness. For months, he'd watched as Erik insinuated himself into the place that he'd once had in Charles' life. He could no longer step into Charles' office or knock on his bedroom door without disturbing something private and exclusive.

Still, his better judgment reigned. "He'd never go for it. I told you, he didn't mean what he said."

"And I disagree. But I'll ask him. If he doesn't want to, there's no harm done."

Hank was still undecided. "And you're sure he'll want it? I wouldn't want to...."

Intrude? Hurt him? Hank couldn't identify what his objections were, exactly.

"He does. Trust me.”

 

* * *

 

Hank was unaccustomed to denying Charles what he wanted. Still, he considered refusing until he imagined what they would think—Charles’ disappointment, Erik's derision. He pictured them together without him.

At some point, without realizing it, he’d stopped hating Erik. That didn't mean he _liked_ him. But Charles wanted to share him, which was a little like Charles sharing a piece of himself. A part that Hank had never been privy to before.

On the appointed evening, Hank labored over what to wear. His fur was still damp from the shower. It seemed silly to get dressed when he would be taking his clothes off again shortly, but the thought of walking down the hall naked was worse. He settled on a robe.

The door to Charles' bedroom was ajar, and Hank pushed it open. Erik was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed. He had also opted for a robe, and gauging from his bare shins and feet, he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Charles, who was sitting on the bed in a pair of pajama bottoms, said, "Come on in, Hank. Join us."

Hank swallowed and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him out of habit, even though there was no one around to see them. He touched the belt of his robe to make sure it was still tied.

Charles touched Erik's arm. Erik followed the silent instruction and crawled over to him. Charles reached for the belt of his robe, and Erik remained still as Charles untied it and pushed the robe off his shoulders.

If he was shy about being exposed in front of Hank, he didn't show it. Hank crept closer and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

Charles looked at him. With a gentle, coaxing smile, he said, "Why don't you take yours off, as well?"

Hank’s fingers were stiff as he unknotted his belt. His robe pooled around his waist.

For a moment, none of them said or did anything. Charles chuckled nervously. "Do I have to give you directions?"

Apparently, he did. Neither Hank nor Erik responded.

“Erik, why don't you run your fingers through Hank's fur? Help him relax.”

It had been Charles who suggested that Hank skip taking his serum. He’d be more relaxed, and Erik found him attractive like this. Hank didn’t mind. It was safer than transforming in the middle of things. But Hank didn't know if he would get that excited. Right now, he was all nerves. Erik was as unflappable as ever, but he avoided meeting Hank's eyes as he touched him.

"Why don't you kiss?"

This time, Erik made a face and looked sideways at Charles. "That is not what we agreed on."

Charles sighed. "Fine, then."

He scooted closer to them. He kissed Erik first, and then he pressed his lips against Hank’s. He ran his fingers through Hank’s fur.

When he broke off the kiss, Hank felt its absence sorely. Charles leaned closer to Erik and kissed him on the cheek. He reached for a jar of petroleum jelly that sat on the nightstand and handed it to him. Erik unscrewed the lid, dipped his fingers in it, and reached for Hank’s cock.

Hank steeled himself. Erik’s hand, and the lubricant, were cold. He felt unbearably exposed, and for a moment he was in disbelief that this was something he wanted. And yet it was. His cock started to harden.

Charles sat back and watched them. Hank glanced in his direction, and Charles gave him a small, reassuring nod.

Erik kept his eyes locked on his hand stroking Hank to hardness. He focused like he was doing a job, and his touch was a little unpersonal. Efficient, Hank thought.

“He’s large, isn’t he?” Charles said. “You’ll enjoy having him in you.”

“ _Charles_ …” Hank protested, embarrassed.

Once Charles decided Erik’s efforts were sufficient, he beckoned him over, giving him a tissue to wipe the excess lube off his hand.

Then Erik straddled Charles' legs and kissed him with far more tenderness than Hank had ever believed him capable of.

It was a strange sight to see, and Hank was surprised to find that he liked it.

From this vantage point, he could see that Erik's ass was curiously pink, as though he'd been spanked prior to Hank's arrival. Hank blushed at the thought.

As they kissed, Charles reached behind Erik and spread his cheeks apart. His skin glistened with what must have been lubricant. Erik made a small noise of protest that Charles silenced with a kiss.

Charles unlocked his lips from Erik's and said, "He's already been prepared." To Erik, he said, "Spread your legs for us."

Erik inched his legs apart like they were made of rusted metal. Charles lay back and pulled Erik down with him, so that he was bent over on his knees. Erik bent his head and captured one of his nipples between his lips. His teeth grazed it, and Charles put his head back and took a sharp breath.

“Go on, Hank,” Charles said. “He’s ready.”

Hank took a moment to consider if he could do this without touching Erik. Touching him somehow seemed more intimate than putting his cock inside him. He quickly ascertained that it was impossible. He needed to grab Erik's hips for leverage.

Erik's body was firm and unforgiving. The muscles in his back and hips were hard and taut. But it was surprisingly easy to breach him. Erik had clearly done this before, and was practiced at it.

Charles was right about one thing—Hank’s size, in this form, was considerable. His growing arousal was tempered with fear—fear that he might hurt Erik, fear that he might get carried away. He started slow at first, and when Erik showed no discomfort, he grew a bit bolder.

He gripped Erik’s hips, his sharp nails digging into his skin, and he drew back and thrust back in. This time, he thought he heard Erik bite off a small noise that tried to escape from his throat.

Charles had one hand clasped in Erik’s hair. Erik flicked one of his nipples with his tongue, and Charles’ grasp tightened, his knuckles turning white.

He looked over Erik’s shoulder at Hank. “It's all right. I won’t let you hurt him.”

Now that he’d gotten this far, there was no more room for modesty or hesitation. Hank growled softly, and let the tension go out of him. He thrust into Erik, and Erik writhed beneath him.

Charles watched with approval, his face flushed and breathing quickened.

Hank let himself slip into an instinct-driven state, trusting that Charles would stop him if he went too far. He fucked Erik with a punishing pace. Leaning over, he grazed his teeth against Erik’s back, enjoying how Erik shivered in response. He latched his teeth onto Erik’s shoulder like an animal in rut. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to show that he could. Erik clenched around his cock and shuddered. It took him a moment to realize that Erik had just come.

Hank didn’t stop. He fucked him until he came, and gave him one final nip on the shoulder before letting him collapse on top of Charles. Charles kissed Erik and stroked his hair, and whispered what sounded like praises in his ear.

Hank mumbled about excusing himself and staggered into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he emerged, Erik had rolled off of Charles and was lying by his side. A trail of come ran down his thigh. Charles dabbing himself clean with a wad of tissues. He motioned for Hank to come over.

Hank sat on the bed on Charles’ other side. The fog of lust and animal instinct started to lift from Hank's mind, and he started to grow uneasy again.

Erik closed his eyes, and his breathing gradually slowed to a long, soft rhythm. Once Hank was sure he’d dozed off, he spoke.

“He enjoyed it, right?”

“Of course he did,” Charles said, surprised. “Couldn't you tell?”

He supposed so. The wet spot on Charles’ pajama bottoms where Erik had ejaculated on him spoke for itself.

“I know. It's just...Erik. How did you convince him to do this, exactly?”

There was a pause. When Charles responded, his voice was wounded. “What makes you think I had to? What are you suggesting, Hank?”

Hank was disgusted with himself for even considering it. He trusted Charles more than anyone. He couldn't imagine him using his power that way.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I just wanted to make sure I didn't hurt him.”

“You didn’t. I wouldn’t have let you.” There was a pause, and Charles added, “Besides, I think you’d find that Erik enjoys being hurt more than we would be willing to indulge him.”

Hank didn’t know what to say to that. He waited until Charles had joined Erik in sleep, and he quietly got up and extricated himself from the room.


End file.
